Maiden Voyage
by Jaffa Fairy
Summary: Not a MarySue, I promise i.e. hope not! A bit of traditional swashbuckling, basically a look at the relationships between Ana, Jack and their unwilling & unwanted passenger Catherine. JOC if you care about such things. Gah, a rubbish summery, just read it
1. Maiden Voyage

**DISCLAIMER - Nothing is mine, nothing, forI am a communist and don't believe in private property (note to paranoid Americans - I'm NOT a communist :P) But if I did believe in property, than POTC wouldn't be part of mine...**

**A/N -Well, second time lucky – I've been turning this story over in my mind for quite a while, some of the MarySue-ness in it annoyed me, as did the stupid plotholes, so I'm having another go – simpler storyline, more focus on the characters and hopefully less half-baked plotlines...**

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Though no one I know now would ever believe I almost married a pirate, it's the truth. It was long ago, of course, when I was only seventeen – over ten years ago now. I lived in Bridgetown, on the island of Barbados, where my father had made his fortune supplying the Royal Navy with uniforms cut from the cloth of our native Yorkshire.

I was only a year old when my mother and I made the stormy crossing from England to join my father in our newly built house nestled away amongst the lush hills of the Caribbean island. It was the only home I had ever known and though my grandfather had only been a humble cloth merchant, and his father before him a crafty sheep-herd with an eye on his masters business, we lived an easy life – with every luxury our glorious eighteenth century could afford.

By the time I had reached the flower of womanhood my father had amassed such a fortune he barely needed to continue his trade; his travels to the other isles of the West Indies became little more than social visits and it wasn't unusual for me and mother to accompany him. Twenty years ago this would have been unthinkable – pirates and privateers all but ruled the Caribbean ocean, merchant ships were forced to travel heavily armed and guarded and all sailors feared the sight of a black flag on the horizon. Yet our Navy had worked hard to eradicate this threat to trade and it was now widely believed there were more pirates hung, tarred and rotting on the shores than sailing free.

The voyage that changed my life so utterly should have been brief and uneventful, during the mild May weather we were to make the short trip across the Windward Isles to Puerto Rico.


	2. Ship in the mist

It was just past the hour of eight and the light had that misty quality you get just before dusk, where everything seems grainy and not quite of this world. My mother suffers greatly from asthma and I had accompanied her up on deck so the sea breeze might relieve her breathing.

Sailors know your eyes can be treacherous at this time of day, and Mr. York our loyal and wise Captain was standing firm at the helm – eyes fixed on the horizon. But even he didn't notice the ship until it was almost upon our bowsprit, its black sails seeming to appear out of the fading light like a ghost ship. Indeed many of the younger hands thought that was exactly what it was, and the deck looked likely to be taken over with panic. But Mr. York sagely noted the Jolly Roger and quickly called his men to order;

"Bo' sun, unlock the arms chest! To attention men! Gordon – set the foresail and turn her about! I mean to outrun them!"

My father, no doubt his evening brandy disturbed, strode across the deck and immediately took stock of the situation.

"Pirates eh? Well by golly York – we'll send 'em away with a sting in the tail, what?"

"My lord," York coughed gently "You and your family should get below decks, I don't think we'll come to blows – the ship looks old and in ill repair, but it would be better for you to be out of danger."

"Nonsense, dash it York, I didn't think I'd see the day when an honest English sailor would run away! We'll stand and fight my man – and that is an order!"

I heard the quiet sigh from my mother that had little to do with her bad breathing. All my life she taught me the duties of being a good wife and as I grew older I saw these could be a great strain on her.

"Mr. York, my dear husband is quite right – honour must be upheld."

"Damn honour my lady!" My mother visibly flinched. "We have not more than six working cannons, and my men are not trained to fight. I tell you we must fly – and fly quickly!" For it is true, the pirate vessel was gaining on us uncommonly fast. The men had stopped working, unsure to carry on without my father's consent. I could see the silhouettes of the pirate crew in the quickening dusk. It was too late to run.

"To the guns!" York bellowed, with a sideways glance at my father "You will at least do me the _honour_ of getting below deck, out of harms way." He hissed as he returned to the helm. Father didn't move, but firmly ushered my mother and I into the deck cabin.

Almost immediately the doors were shut, all hell appeared to have broken loose on deck. I felt the ship turn and fire a swift broadside to the pirates – they returned the blow quickly and there was the sickening sound of wood ripping and splintering beneath us. Mother and I huddled together under the table, which was still laid with the remains of our evening meal. My mother's breathing became quick and frantic, I held her hand tightly and stroked her palm in an effort to calm her. Over her rasping breath I could her a number of sharp whooshing sounds, followed by a dull thud, which I took to be the sound of canons – it was only later I realised it was grappling hooks being thrown from the pirate vessel and attaching themselves to our rail.

The deck was full of strange voices and our cabin shook with the thud of heavy seaboots. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, all was silent and I heard one extraordinary voice begin;

"My good men, we thank ye for your hospitality – I regret this meeting has to be so, restrained," There was a ripple of low laughter at this. "However, we will soon be out of your way. Boys – take what ye can!"

"Give nothing back!" Was the terrible answering cry, and once again there was the crashing and banging of boots. I knew from the stories what they would do – strip the ship of supplies and leave us, at best, stranded and alone, if not slit every one of our throats and set light to the powder magazine.

I knew my mother was thinking the same and I could feel her small body, slender as a harp string, trembling terribly next to mine. For a long time we sat under the table, listening intently – just as I wondered if we should venture out, the door was flung back with a terrible crash. My mother let out a loud gasp before I could cover her mouth with my hand.

"Who goes there?" I heard something heavy crash down onto the table, looking up instinctively I saw the tip of a cutlass blade. Our table was made from Jamaican-aged eighty year old teak and the top was nearly three inches thick. I could feel my mother's breath, uncommonly fast on my hand, her eyes were rolling horribly, showing the whites and her body trembled faster than a mouse's heartbeat when you catch it in a field. Seeing her so, I knew I had to be strong, though inside I was as petrified as her.

"T'is only me, sir." I swiftly crawled out from under the table, being careful to let the cloth drop quickly, hiding my mother from view.

"'Ello petal." The man was almost spherical in shape, sweat made a sickly sheen on his bald head and dark patches on his red shirt, which was open to the waist. He had a brace of pistols tied across his chest with a sash, and a short, curved dagger in his hand. When he smiled I saw he only had three front teeth left – and those were either blackened or gold. "You'll be a-coming along with me then, and I reckon I'll have found the prettiest prize of the day."

"Certainly not!" I snapped before I could help myself.

"Look petal," He grabbed me firmly, but not painfully, on my upper arm. "There's ways and means for things to be done, so I think you'll be wanting to come along quietly, like a good girl." I met his rheumy eyes and felt cold sweat trickling into the back of my stays. Above all – I _knew_ he couldn't find my mother under the table and I had to get him out of that room fast.

"Sir." And I stepped forward, though my foot trembled as I did it. He grabbed me tightly around my upper arm and hissed in my ear.

"Now, no clever business." And with that I was dragged out of the cabin.


	3. No prisioners

On deck, I walked past the crew, tied to the mainmast, though I noted with some surprise that their bounds were not tight, and they could probably escape within half an hour or so. I nearly lost my footing when I heard my father cry out;

"Catherine! _Catherine_! You dogs, you blasted scoundrels! Let her go! Let her go!" But the pirate only gave him a toothless leer and, with movements seemingly too agile for his bulky frame, tucked me under his arm, released a grappling hook and swung easily back to his ship before I had time to think or reply.

Immediately I got on board, I noticed the pirate ship was much larger than our vessel and stood a good deal firmer in the water. The crew didn't take much mind of me; they were busy loading cargo into the hold – our cargo. There was bale after bale of cloth, some large trunks of the Eastern luxuries, spices, ivory, finely decorated silks, china tea as well as Western necessities such as sugar, coffee and candles. There were also several smaller trunks that I knew contained gold and sliver, thank God my mother's jewellery was hidden in a secret compartment in her cabin – one of the few relics from the days when vigilance against pirates was much stronger. Strangely, they seemed to have taken little of our food – we were only a small ship with a full crew, and my father likes to dine well, so we were almost fully laden with barrel after barrel of ships biscuits, ham, bacon – every kind of food we might need. Yet hardly any of it seemed to be here, it also looked as if the wine stores had been neglected – yet every barrel of sailors-issue rum had been taken. My captor surveyed the scene with a grin, pawing at my hair with his stumpy hand. I shuddered, and felt a tingle of panic in my stomach – as yet still controllable.

"Jeff, you old sea dog – what's this you've brought us?" It was the same extraordinary drawl I had heard from the cabin – but the strangeness of the voice, I now saw, was nothing to the man himself. He jingled as he walked, he was dressed in clothes that were stylish a decade ago, his hair was practically organic and his beard was plaited and decorated with beads. With a brace of guns across his chest and a cutlass by his side he looked, in short, like a cartoon of a pirate – an amusing caricature, too exaggerated to be real.

"Aye cap'n" My captor saluted as smartly as he could whilst still keeping a tight grip on me. "Nowt but supplies."

"Supplies?" The bizarre man drew out the word at the same time as his cutlass, and before Jeff could wipe the grin off his face. I saw it glint in the last throws of the setting sun as he held it against his throat and realised while his clothes may be a joke, his weapons were not. I pulled myself as far behind my captor's bulk as possible, desperate to be out of harms way "Is she made of gold? Can we trade, sell or barter with her? Are you in the slave trade Cannonball, or are you a pirate? What. Have. I. Told. You?" He thundered, and the whole deck became silent. Jeff, sweat pouring off him faster than ever, just muttered and held his eyes shut. "WHAT?"

"No, no, no…." He stuttered franticly.

"No, what, you fat old fool?" The Captain prompted

"No prisoners, Cap'n."

"No prisoners indeed, Cannonball Jeff, and what would you call this young lady?" He shot a glance across at me, and I took an unexpected breath, taken aback at his sharp stare.

"A, a… a prisoner Cap'n."

"A prisoner indeed, Jeff" He repeated, turning his cutlass idly, seemingly unaware one careless move would cut out this man's life. "Ye see the problem we have here?"

Jeff made to nod, then though better of it, mindful of the blade at his neck and managed to squeak out an agreement.

"I'm so glad you agree, Jeff. It means ye see why I have to put you on double shifts manning the bilge pump for a week."

"Aye Cap'n" The Captain sheathed his sword and Jeff began to shuffle off, leaving me forlorn and alone on the deck, the other sailors went back to work.

"Hello! Wait a minute, Hello!" I cried out, and instantly the deck was silent again.

The Captain, who has been making his way to the quarter deck, turned abruptly and stared at me with a curious, cautious look in his eyes

"Sir," I began graciously, giving a deep curtsy – this Captain, though strange, seemed to be a decent man. "You have been most kind, could I press you, good Sire to a further kindness and ask you to return me to my ship and henceforth to my family?"

He snorted "it's 'Captain', not 'Sir'" was his only reply before he turned smartly again and took his position at the helm. Night had truly fallen now and the crew were lighting the lamps and making their way below deck as those on the night watch emerged from their bunks. The waters were around us were black, the sky was clouded and dark – the moon not risen yet and the deck was eerily quiet, save the creaking of ropes and sails as we cut through the gloom. I shivered in my taffeta and was grateful for the reassuring thud of my slippers along the boards as I ran up to the quarter deck.

"Captain, I beseech you…" I stood in front of the wheel, blocking the Captain's view of the murky horizon, my hands gripped knuckle-white on the spokes.

"Aye, Missy I've no doubt you do, but I can't return you." He moved the wheel sharply, shaking off my hands.

"Why not? My ship can be barely a few miles away, even now."

"Well Missy, _my_ ship," His eyes grew clouded and dark for a beat "My ship moves on… different paths. I am its Captain and it will go where I choose, and I do not choose to go backwards." He pushed me out of the path of his gaze, and kept his eyes straight ahead as I walked down the stairs.

"Sorry love." I thought I heard his ridiculous drawl, but when I turned back he hadn't moved.

Alone on the forecastle, the salt wind stinging my face, I let my own tears mingle with the ocean spray. I was fully alone, with empty, black water flowing out in every direction. The tingle of fear was no longer manageable and I stared, sobbing out into the empty horizon in every direction with a kind of desperation. I was stolen and stranded on a pirate ship, like some preposterous girl from a story-book. I had never liked those romance stories – they always seemed so artificial, and I liked my true version even less.


	4. The Quartermaster

"Girl!" I was interrupted from my despondent thoughts by a shout from above, a pirate dropped gracefully on the deck from the rigging. He was small, scruffy and dark – though not as dark as the West Indian slaves back on Barbados. "Where're you planning to sleep?" His voice had a lilting accent that was soothing to me.

On my father's ship, I had my own cabin, it was small, but lavish and I loved it – when I was a child I imagined I was sleeping inside a flower. I doubted I would find similar quarters here.

"I'm not sure" I replied stiffly, being careful to keep my voice steady and my tears at bay.

"Well, I'm the quartermaster here and get my own cabin, so maybe you'd best bunk down with me"

"But I couldn't!" I blushed deeply as the pirate steadily held my gaze, who did this messy little man, voice like a mere boy, think he was talking to? "My parents would never allow me to share quarters with a man!"

To my surprise, the sailor burst out laughing, he sounded like a blocked drain.

"Oh lordy girl, is my disguise that good?" He unlaced his shirt… and exposed her chest to me. My cheeks burned even more, and I swiftly turned away.

"Oh, goodness!" I spoke facing the black sea "I didn't realise, I so sorry, I should have…" I searched for something to say, my governess had never taught me the etiquette for _this_ situation. In the end, curiosity overtook propriety.

"Why do you dress like a man?"

"Have you ever tried to climb rigging, or steer a ship in petticoats, stays and a bodice?"

I shook my head "Well, neither have I, because it's impossible." She spoke simply, but her voice was not harsh or cold. I turned back to face her and tried to smile, but I was stopped by a yawn.

"To ye bed, I think then" She laughed again.

"Thank you" I murmured, following her across the deck. I noted her easy stroll compared to my struggles as my long dinner dress dragged along the wet wood. There was obviously something to her aversion to petticoats.

The Quartermaster's cabin was much smaller than my old one, and needless to say, much less lavishly decorated. There was a simple bunk, built into the wall, the only furniture was a vast sea chest, battered with use and darkened with age. It was firmly padlocked and the letter "A" was branded into its lid. On top of the chest rested a bottle and a pewter goblet. The pirate lit a lantern that hung from the ceiling and in the dancing orange light I could almost convince myself it was a cosy place to sleep.

Without any warning or ceremony, the woman began shrugging off her jacket and weapons, which she carefully stored under bed, and was unbuttoning her breeches before she looked up to see me standing awkwardly in the corner. I had already seen more of this woman than I had ever seen of another human being, I could not help feeling bashful and uncomfortable.

"Ye not planning to sleep dressed like that are you? I'm not well versed in lady-ways, so I can't know for sure." I wasn't sure if she was mocking me or not, and I daren't tell her the reason I couldn't take off my dress. I just stood and blushed.

"Oh lordy girl, whatever's bothering you – speak for gods sake!" I winced at her blaspheming, but murmured my problem.

"Speak up girl." She moved closer to me, wearing her long shirt as a nightdress.

"Can't undo the dress myself" I spoke fractionally louder, she looked at me incredulously "It laces up at the back, a maid has always dresses and undresses me, I've never been shown how to…. When I was little my mother would… " I gulped desperately at the thought of my mother – when would I see her again? I couldn't help my eyes filling up.

"Turn around." I obeyed her order before I thought about it. Then the pirate, the hardened dark sailor in mans clothes began to unlace my bodice and lift the skirts over my head. She was quiet, taking in the layers of petticoats, and the whalebone stays and panniers, the engineering of my clothes. She hung the dress on a hook in the wall, and brushed down the stiffened taffeta carefully, tutting over the sea-water stained hem. She turned back to me and smiled.

"It's a pretty dress." She said carefully. I nodded, still feeling bashful in my petticoats. "Into bed with you then, you can have the end with the pillow."

As I dived under the covers, (the ship was none too warm) the woman poured some of the contents of the bottle into the goblet and climbed into the other end of the bed. She caught me staring as she swallowed the goblet's contents in one easy gulp.

"You want some?" She offered the bottle towards me. I shook my head

"What is it?"

"Rhum, c'est très bien." She grinned at me.

"You speak French?"

"Oui, je parlè françaisè tout ma vie."

"How did you learn?" I was unable to keep the shock from my voice.

"My mother was born in a French colony in Africa. We spoke French to our masters and our own language to each other. I only learnt English later." I was amazed, etiquette required that I lean French, but in eight years of study I was nowhere near fluent – Mademoiselle Durand despaired of me, I can still see her now, bustling around the schoolroom, muttering foreign curses about 'Zis stopid girrrl, 'ho cannot learn'. But I wasn't about to admit this to my new companion, instead I asked;

"Masters?"

"We were slaves," She looked up from her goblet then, and I was taken aback by the hard, challenging look in her eyes. "I was born in the hold of a slave ship, traveling to Jamaica. I never saw the sky until I was a month old. My mother used to joke that's why I was so pale." Again that hard glance – I got the impression I was being tested. Whatever the test, I seemed to pass, as she continued "But that wasn't the reason, and when we arrived, and the captain saw my mother's halfling child, she was beaten." Her voice began to quake. "They beat her so hard her back was damaged, and all my childhood I had to watch her work in pain because of what I was." She poured another goblet of rum before continuing, with a low sort of laugh "So there you have it, as they say."

I looked down at my hands in the fold of the blanket, not sure what to say. A half-blood! I hadn't realized – you heard rumors, an amorous plantation owner, young white workers mixing with the slaves. People whispered, gossiped in the corners at balls, pointing their fans and nodding at each other with loaded glances. The church taught that they were the devil's children, born of an unholy union, with no religion – condemned to hell. My first reaction was disgust – I was sharing a bed with the Damned!

But I looked up, and saw the small, scruffy woman staring solemnly into her drink, and that flare of hatred died in my heart. Still at a loss for words, I reached across the bed with my foot, and placed my toes over hers, as if clasping her hand. She glanced up with her wide grin, all hardness gone from her face.

"Can you blow the lantern out?" Was her only comment as she emptied the goblet and pulled the covers around her.


	5. The French merchant

Over the next few weeks, I learnt more than I'd ever thought I'd know from my nighttime talks with Anamaria. She told me about her life as a slave, how both the masters and other slaves treated her badly because of how she looked. I had assumed all dark skin was the same, but the other slaves hated her because her blood wasn't pure. She explained how she ran away to be a sailor, promising her mother she would return and buy her freedom. Her pride when she was able to do that three years later, and the pain two months after that, when her mother's weak back caused her to trip and fall down a flight of stairs – a fall which at first paralyzed, and then killed her. She talked about the pirate's code, honor amongst thieves, the injustice and unfairness of the world. She planted new ideas in my head, and none of them sat well with the ones I already held.

And I, in my turn, told her about my life at home, about my maids and slaves, my lessons, the dances and dinners, the dresses and jewels. I would cry relating stories of my parents, and blush when explaining my various sulks and impatient rages. How I soaked my mother's new Persian rug with wine because she would not buy me a hat with stuffed humming birds on I wanted so fiercely at the time – she loved birds, and couldn't bare to see it. I told her about my father's business, and we traded knowledge of ships. I had thought myself pretty well versed, but Anamaria was born on a ship, and returned to live on them when she was only eleven – she always vowed she could lead a galleon through a gale blindfolded, and I didn't doubt her.

In short, we talked of everything, there were no rules, she would shock me and I would anger her. Some nights we would have blazing rows, where our experiences of life forbade us to agree, and we would go to sleep sulking, and tugging at the blanket. Others we would fall asleep holding each other and crying, talking about people we had known and lost. I had never talked like it, before or since – with the girls I knew on Barbados there was always a right and wrong thing to say, ruts for the conversation to run along, and endless gossip. I cringe to remember how I would sneer at the girls who had worn an old dress to a dinner, or who had been known to give favors to soldiers, or whose fathers were doing badly in business.

There was only one thing Anamaria and I never talked about, and it drove me to frustration, because it was the one thing about which I was sure she knew so much, and I infuriatingly knew absolutely nothing:

Captain Jack Sparrow was the most unusual and contrary man I had ever met. He was forthright to the point of rudeness, headstrong to the point of insanity, dressed like a clown, acted like a fool and yet was treated like a king.

I could not understand him. Since the first night he spoke to me seldom, but every conversation we did have ended the same way, to my distraction and, seemingly, to his amusement.

"When will you return me home, Captain Sparrow?"

"When the winds bring me that way." Usually spoken with a merry swig of rum.

"That is no answer, only the same codswallop you always give me, _Captain._"

"Then why, my delicate trembling orchid, do you persist in asking the question?"

There was no talking to him, no reason to a single solitary action he took from dawn to dusk.

For a beginning, he seemed to have no plotted course, he dashed the Black Pearl about the Caribbean in a frenzy, attacked every ship we came across, big or small, fully laden or almost empty, no target was spared. He worked his men hard, but they seemed to take no joy in their plundering, even when we were mightily laden down with almost more coin from Spain, Holland, France and England than the hold could accommodate.

It was frustrating beyond words. At home I had prided myself in being an excellent judge of character, and had often caused the comment "You took the words straight from my mouth". Sparrow actions were unfathomable to me.

There was some mystery at work here and, having nothing better to do, and seeing Anamaria would tell me nothing, I contrived to find out for myself.

So I followed Sparrow, wherever he might be on the ship, I was there – concealed and watching. The crew took no mind of me, the Captain's warning to Jeff on my first evening had seen to that. The things I observed however, only served to deepen the mystery.

It was not until my forth day of following the cad, my ninth aboard the pirate ship, that I began to learn of his plans. And even that knowledge came at a high price.

I began, as usual, by watching the Captain at breakfast, through the thick green glass of the port deck cabin. The other crewmembers, and I with them breakfasted on thick porridge, sweetened with molasses. Sparrow, however always had two dainty brown eggs from the ships two very ragged chickens, with them he took a good, long drink from a leather bottle. Rum, I was sure – what other explanation for his behaviour was there? I pitied the crew, and me, for being under the command of a drunkard. After breakfast he pulled on his hat and took up position at the helm. From here on in, my days work became very simple. For he stood at the helm for hours on end, his darkened eyes fixed on the horizon, rough hands gripping the wheel, only occasionally calling out orders to the crew. They, for the most part, knew their duties and watches well, and despite being of rather small number for the ships size, kept her sailing without a hitch.

The day went on, and the sun wheeled high in the clear sky, the rocking of the boat was soothing, the heat soporific and I leaned against the starboard rail, half-closed eyes still idly trained on Sparrow.

"Interesting, was it?" I nearly fell overboard with shock, Sparrow grinned to himself and tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Pardon, Captain?" I contrived to reply smoothly.

"My breakfast, love. Can't imagine it was much of a show, but – takes all sorts." He raised his eyebrows. I spluttered for a moment, but recovered admirably.

"Why do you get eggs, and I must eat slop with the crew in the berth?"

"I'd like to see my quartermaster's face if she heard you say that about her porridge." Was his only reply. I turned away for a moment, watching the waves roll up to the ship while I considered my retort. But before something suitably cutting came to me, my thoughts were jarred by a piercing whistle from the crow's nest.

"Ship Cap'n! French merchant, due south!"


	6. Blood and heat

"Hoist the colours!" Sparrow called immediately, setting a hasty course for the ship. The crew looked stony faced as the black flag hung rose, slack in the stifling midday haze. In a few moments I could see the French vessel – it was a typical Merchantman; large, with an uncommonly commodious hold, but also a cumbersome rounded hull that made them slow and clumsy in the water. She was struggling without success to turn as we fast approached, the Pearl could move with fiercesome speed when her Captain willed it. I saw now how the pirate ship's agility was her winning card, her victims were so sure of out running such a scruffy, unwieldy looking frigate they never made ready to fight. And in making ready to sail, they never noticed her forty guns.

I kept low, crouching behind the gunwale to avoid any shot, watching helplessly as the merchant's crew scuttled about on deck, scared to the point of stupidity, as well they might be, with the Pearl's brutal bulk and black sails bearing down upon them. Sparrow's crew, on the other hand, seemed calm and businesslike about the whole operation, cutlasses and pistols were handed out. Sparrow stood before his men and spoke simply;

"Canons at the ready! Give 'em one steady hit and we'll board. Take everything you find of value." The pirates responded with a roar, raising their cutlasses above their hats. "And what do we _not_ take, Cannonball?" Even now, Sparrow always reminded him.

"Prisoners, Cap'n" The great bear of a man replied like a sulky child.

As easily as clockwork, the crew primed the canons and shot a sickening broadside into the ungainly Merchantman, it tilted towards us and, as one man, the score of pirates threw their grapples and boarded, cutlasses and pistols glinting in the endless sun.

Just as the raid on my own ship, it looked to be over quickly and quietly – the crew were not only an excellent team before the mast, but also worked in perfect harmony about the business of plundering and threatening. Any resistance was soon over, and the French crew were tied to the mainmast, leaving the pirates free to plunder the ship at their leisure.

I stuck my head cautiously over the rail, the crew were laughing and joking amongst themselves, working at a leisurely pace bringing the contents of the hold up to the deck. Sparrow was watching their progress with a mild grin on his face and after a time Anamaria picked a party to begin carrying the haul over to the Pearl.

No one was watching the prisoners.

The French Captain had a closely-clipped grey beard and was a tall, sparsely built man. It was his slight figure that allowed him to slowly ease free of the cords that bound him. With a motion for silence towards his shipmates he drew a pistol and inched his way over to Sparrow.

"Captain – look out!" I screamed with all my might, jumping up from the protection of the gunwale. In an instant, the world was a flurry of movement – Sparrow drew his cutlass and lunged for the Frenchman, who dodged and aimed a shot at me. Before I could think something sped past my ear and I smelt burning hair. The sounds of battle broke out on the merchant ship, it made my head ring and I held a hand to my temple to steady myself, when I pulled it away, it was covered in blood. The sun was suddenly hotter and bigger, the deck so wet and slick and the stink of salt water and sodden wood so strong I could barely stand. Gunshots and clashes of steal rang in my head, above a steady sickening beat which I gradually realised was my heart before my vision swan like a fish and I sunk, once again, below the gunwale.

I opened my eyes. I couldn't see. All was black, and a thick smell oppressed me. Panicking, I began to thrash about, and the old blanket that has been covering my body fell away. I kicked it away, fearfully wondering _why they had covered my face_? I was inside - the air was cooler and I had an almighty pain in my head. After a moment more I realised I was in the galley: the ships kitchen, domain of Anamaria.

But the figure lying on a thin pallet bed opposite me was not Anamaria; it was Butler, the ship's surgeon. His face was while and he lay perfectly still. For one appalling moment I thought he was dead, then I saw his hand twitch and I relaxed, but only until I noticed that hand only had two fingers left on it. Then he turned and I saw the cut on his face. A sword had bit into the delicate bones and the right side of his face was a mask of sticky, dark blood. His cheekbones had been crushed, there was nothing left of his right eye, his nostril had been cut into and flared away from his face with every breath. Even his mouth had a deep cut across his two lips, and when he spoke it was with difficulty, his voice low and husky, and he spluttered blood with every word.

"How. Are. You. Feeling?" The question of doctors everywhere. He lay back exhausted after this, resting the good side of his head against the pillow.

I stared into his face, that moving, red mass that bubbled and bled with every breath and couldn't answer. I opened my mouth to reply, but it was bile, not words that rose in my throat and I turned away from him, retching painfully onto the floor. When my stomach was empty I lay back, avoiding the sight of the surgeon, and tried to gather my thoughts.

I put my hand up to my head, where I had felt blood earlier. My hair and shoulder were now covered with dried blood, brown and sticky. I could feel the lobe of my ear was gone, and with a sick thump of my heart, I realised the bullet from the Frenchman's gun must have just missed my skull.

As my senses slowly recovered, I felt a great need to be out of that room. The stench of Butler's fresh blood mingled with the smell of my own, congealing in my hair. The air felt fresher and I dared to hope the heat of the day might be over.


	7. Against the Code

On deck all was eerie, silent commotion. The crew were working hard, and the Pearl was running along on a brisk breeze that revived me somewhat. But there was none of their usual song or easy conversation. No calls from rigging to deck, no "One, two, heave" as sails were adjusted and unfurled. There were fragments of twisted and shattered wood on deck, hinted at cannon fire and a quick escape on our part.

I spied Anamaria on the quarter deck, staring at the horizon behind us as Sparrow stared ahead into the low afternoon sun. I ran haphazardly across the deck, thinking only to find out from my friend what had transpired. She turned, hearing my slippers on the steps:

"Jesus!" She shrieked, her face suddenly pale despite her colour "Catherine!" I could only stare at her, perplexed. Sparrow glanced over to me, raised an eyebrow and then fixed his gaze back to the bowsprit.

"What?" I glanced down at myself, touched my face "What's wrong?"

"I thought, I.." She stammered, gripping onto the rail for support. "There was so much blood, you fell when he shot. I, I thought…." I could see her lip start to tremble, in a second I was sweeping her up in a tight embrace, as I held her I could feel her dense, small body leaning itself totally against me.

"I'm not dead, I'm not dead."

"Oh, thank god." I could feel her tears against my cheek. Her hands grasped hungrily in my hair, combing through the dry blood and finding my mutilated ear. We clung together for a second longer, then, composed, she pulled away.

"I can't come to the galley tonight." She said, after a moment of silence. Since I joined the Black Pearl, it has become my habit to spend my evenings helping Anamaria in the galley. It was unheard of for a Quartermaster to also be a cook, but her combination of African and French cuisine was unbeatable and no other in the crew could match it – nor did she wish them to try. "Can you cook on your own? Just a stew or something, and take it down to the crew?"

"Of course." I wondered what could be so important that Anamaria would loosen her tyranny of the galley, much less give it up for the whole evening.

She would not tell me however, and I left her on the quarter deck, back turned on Sparrow as they both stared out into the ocean.

That night I let the salted pork stew boil almost dry, listening to the sounds of Butler's funeral. In naval fashion he had been sewn into his hammock, and, with a canon to weight him, was released to the sea, whose dark waters would claim him until judgement day. Anamaria had not begged leave of cooking duties to pay her respects – herself, Captain Sparrow and Gibbs, the boatswain, were locked away in the Captain's quarters all evening, seemingly in a private council.

When I called to offer them dinner, there was a sense of a conversation stopped mid-flow, of myself as a trespasser in a confidential meeting. They took no food - though Sparrow looked pale and in sore need of sustenance.

It was down below decks, in the dark, cramped, overheated Berth where the pirates ate, slept and lived. The place I always tried to avoid, where I finally learnt something of our voyage and purpose.

I sat amongst the crew, at least, those who were off duty, others were still above, guiding the ship. They took their food sitting in small groups around rickety tables, lounging on hammocks, or clustered together on steps. They looked shaken and tired after their day, as well they might, and my tasteless meal was taken without joke or comment. Their conversation seemed furtive and uncomfortable. At first, the snatches I heard made no sense, but gradually I began to see what we were about, and what a foolish, selfish mission Sparrow had set his crew.

Jack Sparrow had bet the Black Pearl in a card game on Tortuga. And lost.

He managed to charm three weeks grace out of his debtor, and was now trying to capture the Pearl's worth in gold. Even in piracy's "Golden Age", twenty years past, this would have been a fool's errand. The Pearl was no typical Jamaican pirate sloop, but a three-masted frigate, with forty guns and a solid, weathered hull. If England owned her she would be a man of war; a fourth rate Ship of the Line. She was old, but her age only served to prove her strength and heighten her value.

At a guess, I would apportion nearly half of my father's considerable fortune to buy her at her full worth (and no pirate would demand less). To attempt to amass this amount in three weeks, on the Spanish Main, from ships well trained and well aware of the threat of pirates was sheer lunacy.

I was heartily relieved to discover the crew were of the same mind as me. It was against every pirate code to gather a prize no one would see a share of, they reasoned – and it was certainly not allowed under the articles they had signed upon joining the Pearl.

For a while longer after the meal, the men stayed in their closed groups, but as the rum began to flow, singing was taken up – old sea shanties, sang in rounds, and after a time they were gathered round one central table, voices raised in unison. I stayed out of the circle, until I caught Cotton's eye and was ushered to his side.

Cotton was a kindly looking man, and I had an idea he was once an honest gentleman, and a fancy his honest, loving family were still out there somewhere. Whether this was true or not he couldn't say, for some accident had taken his tongue from him many years ago and he was now a mute. He hummed along to the tune, and swayed back and forth, mug in hand with such reverence and feeling I couldn't help but smile, and I sang twice as loud to make up for his loss.

The man's parrot, however, was not mute and the bird's voice was raised loudest of all until the rolling tune came to an end, when it began picking at the man's sash and squawking "Wind in yer sails" despondently.

For a while all sat in contented silence, their weather-beaten faces softened by the lamplight.

It was the dull thud of a tankard against the table which broke happy stillness of the group. Everyone, especially me, jumped. Cannonball Jeff, the man who slammed his drink down, now leaned forward in his seat – wide arms resting on his stretched out legs, confident he had the attention of everyone at the table.

"Well lads, here's how it's fallen to. Butler dead, and no one to care for our wounded – save that snivelling she-pirate." One or two gave a slight cough at hearing Anamaria spoken of so. I myself bridled and made ready to stand, before Cotton placed a warning hand on my knee. Jeff continued "What Sparrow's asking of us, it's against the Code. And my good lads, I don't have to tell you how it goes with Captains who break the Code"

The men shifted in their seats and looked at each other cautiously. They had been saying much the same to each other all evening, but to hear the words dragged out of dark corners and into plain sight was difficult.

"None one want to give up Black Pearl." Muttered one man, it was Peublo, ex-Spanish Navy and one of the younger members of the crew, shy because of his bad English.

"We can easily find another ship." Spoke up the man next to him, clapping the youth heartily on the back, he flinched slightly.

"Not now." Refuted Duncan, the ship's carpenter. "Fifteen years ago maybe. Now even Tortuga's closing down. I'm for holding fast to what we've got." The red-faced Irishman slammed his fist onto his knee for emphasis and there were one or two quiet "hear, here"s from around the table. I kept my eye on Jeff. I didn't trust him – I saw how humiliated he had been when Sparrow punished him for taking me, and his face had been dark ever since. I had it in mind that he had been planning this, and now the tide was turning against him.

"Boys, boys – that's no way to speak. Duncan – I've seen you hold your own in many a fight, which is why it pains me to see you become Sparrow's dog."

The carpenter, a man fully big as fat old Jeff, stood up deliberately and spoke in his gruff, simple accent:

"Say that again Cannonball, and you won't live to see it said a third time." Jeff rose in own seat, and one or two others with him.

"I don't want any quarrel with you, save your anger for the mutiny." If the silence had been stiff before, you could now cut it with a knife.

"Mutiny?" Duncan didn't sit down, but stood his ground, hand poised at the hip. It was then I realised that in the day's confusion and grief at loosing Butler, no one had thought to gather up the arms and return them to the magazine with the canon and shot. These angry men held knives, daggers, cutlasses, pistols and muskets – and they talked of mutiny.

"Mutiny" Jeff repeated, grinning as he did so. "Nothing against it in the Code, if the Captain's done you wrong." The crew were still hesitant. I could see Jeff's frustration mounting.

"What would we do?" Asked Chang, the gunner – a shrewd and calculating man if ever I saw one.

"Do?" Jeff boomed. "Do? Well, we'd do what any mutineers do, go to the captain in, put our case to him, and declare a new captain." Many looked relieved at this.

"We not kill Sparrow then?" Peublo asked.

"Jesus, you welp! NO – we not kill Sparrow, though s'help me god wouldn't it help things if we did…" Jeff caught Duncan's eye and left off.

"I suppose you want to be captain?" The Irishman asked

"Aye"

"Then, ye'll know the Code demands you face Sparrow in a duel." Jeff grunted, but the rest of the crew murmured agreement. "T'is true Jeff, and you know it. Will you face the Captain as an honest man?"

Jeff sneered

"I'll face him as a pirate" No one laughed "Alright, alright – tomorrow, at first light, we put our case. And then the duel."

"We demand our share of the prize." Duncan corrected. "If he refuses, god help him, they'll be a duel."

This seemed to satisfy everyone, and the party broke up, I stayed seated, taking in all I had heard. Alone at the table, I must have caught Jeff's eye, and he called out:

"Hey, wench." Instantly all attention was on me. "You talk to your little pal about this, and you'll regret it." He drew his sword. I was mortally afraid, but some stubborn part of me though 'What a swaggering bully!'

"Will I indeed sir?" In a second I was inches off the floor, being held up by the 'kerchief of my dress, Jeff's bloated face almost touching mine.

"Aye, missy. Regret it is what you'll do. And I'll tell you forwhy – out of the two of us, there's only one captain prepared to take you home."


	8. Muntiny

**Another lovely long chapter for your reading pleasure... Sorry about the swordfight scene, it all played out so vividly in my head - but _would _it consent to be commited to print? Not really... **

**Oh, and to answer the question of my most dedicated reviewing - KrazieShadowNinja - the romance is on it's way! Patience, my dear, is a virture :)**

* * *

That night I got into bed without a word and lay with the covers pulled tight about me, pretending to be asleep. If Anamaria noticed my silence, she said nothing. As it was, she was just as morose as me.

What could I do? Sparrow might be killed and that hideous, blustering braggart would be our captain. On the other hand, Sparrow seemed half mad and fully drunk most of the time, surely it would be better for the crew to have a sober, sound minded man at the helm, however odious? And what of me, Jeff had as good as promised to take me home, could I trust him? And if not, should I bring myself to trust Sparrow?

Undecided, I fell into an uneasy, feverish sleep with dark dreams. I awoke an hour before dawn, with a pounding head and the pain in my ear worse than the day before. Realising that further sleep would be impossible, I dressed with the utmost quietness to avoid waking Anamaria and made my way onto the deck, with a mind to clear my head and come to a decision about the knowledge I carried while there was still time.

Outside, the sky was dim, illuminated in the east by the faintest streaks of jaundiced light. There was not a cloud to be seen and I had every reason to fear today would be just as stifling as yesterday. Even at this early hour, the wind was slack and warm. The night watch were just coming off duty, to be replaced with my companions from last night. I could see Duncan moving amongst the off duty watch, evidently spreading the news about the days events. Most seemed surprised, then wary at the prospect, but a few were visibly revived and called out a cry of companionship to Jeff, who was striding around deck, grinning heartily. With his rocking sailor's gate, he reminded me of nothing so much of a toy I had as a child – a figure of a man, round-bottomed and weighted so however much you pushed it, it would only roll and wobble about the floor, a fixed smile on it's spherical face.

I sat alone on the forecastle, letting the salt spray revive me and bring some relief from the oppressive weather. It maddened me to be of unclear mind about such things. I, stubborn and perceptive Catherine, quavering, undecided, like a kicked dog. I tried to force my mind to a verdict, but my thoughts danced around the issue and would not be applied. My head wound from the day before still throbbed at me grievously, and I found no peace.

The crew went about their duties, I watched, still unresolved. Gibbs was at the helm, with a grim look on his face, and amongst the others there was a feeling of tension and expectancy. Jeff did no work, but sat on a barrel, fully in sight of the Boatswain, sharpening his longsword on a whetstone.

Behind Gibbs, I watched the sliver of light grow and bloom and I realised time had made my choice for me - I had deceived Anamaria and put her captain at mortal risk! Heavy was my heart as Jeff stood and called out to his watch:

"Tis dawn lads." As one man, the crew downed tools and, with Jeff at the lead made their way to Sparrow's door – three heavy knocks were given. "Captain Jack Sparrow. You have done wrong by us, and strayed from the Code. Come out and face your judgement." Intoned Jeff, with what I felt was unnecessary ceremony.

The door was opened, and the crew parted, so Sparrow and Jeff stood alone.

"What's this Cannonball?" The Captain asked. He was dressed in shirtsleeves, but had had the acumen to throw a brace of pistols about his chest, and held his cutlass in hand. Jeff answered, in that same serious, lawyerly tone.

"You've played us for fools, by setting us to raids we won't profit from, contrary to the articles every man jack of us aboard this vessel has signed. Will you give us our rightful share in our prize?" Jack snorted.

"Your _prize_ is the Pearl, as we agreed when we…"

"No Capt'n." it was Duncan, redder than ever, his flat sailors cap clutching tightly in his hands. "I want no part in this, Capt'n, but we never did agree." Duncan and Sparrow stared at each other, if a jug of milk had stood them, it would have soured. Jeff took his moment, and cleared his throat thickly.

"I intend to depose you as captain, and challenge you to a duel to those ends." In response to this, Jack turned away from Duncan slowly and smiled, throwing his cutlass from hand to hand slightly, making sure Jeff's eyes were firmly fixed on it before he answered.

"Do ye now?"

"Aye" Again, that smirk, almost as if he was trying to stifle amusement at the situation. Never before have I seen a man so well at ease in the face of death.

"And is this the will of the crew?"

"Aye" Said Jeff again, speaking quickly and loudly, with a fierce glare at his companions, who answered in kind, though with rather less conviction.

"Aye." Sparrow repeated, thoughtfully and under his breath.

The situation progressed with the same perverted sense of ceremony, Sparrow, as standing Captain, named his quartermaster to oversee the duel. Each man was allowed one sword and one pistol, with one shot, with the provision that pistols were only to be used if swords were disposed of.

The silence on deck was such that you could hear each break of waves against the hull, and each snap of the sails as they caught the slack breeze. Wordlessly, Sparrow and Cannonball stood back to back in a centre of a circle, surrounded by the whole crew, the night watch having forgone rest to see the outcome. On Anamaria's word they both stepped forward three paces, turned and drew their swords.

For a moment neither moved, and from my vantagepoint on the forecastle I watched eagerly. The two men each made the measure of the other with their eyes. One tall and stout, with all the apparent advantages of size, but already sweating under the morning sun. The other shorter and lighter by a good stretch, and moving with a dancer's ease in his worn seaboots. I was just pondering which I would back, had I the advantage of an impartial mind, when Jeff made the first move,

It was a clumsy thrust, but heavy and powerful. Sparrow however parried it easily, and with a step back and a deft flick of his sword, was out of harms way. In a moment, Jeff bore down on him again, each of his blows warded off with the same accomplished parries.

Despite Jeff's strong attacking stance, it was his captain who drew first blood, evidently growing annoyed with evading his coarse swipes, he stepped easily aside and struck the broad man across the thick of his back, leaving a tattered shirt and a wide, but shallow cut.

"Do you forfeit?" He asked immediately, springing back to avoid Jeff's swinging sword.

"Never!" Was the heavily breathed reply.

For a while longer they danced around like this. I could see Jeff's cut back was causing him pain and slowing him down, but even so, through sheer persistence and force of his offensive Sparrow was having to make some quick moves. Jeff was fat now, but you could see he had once been burly and strong. As he moved, his muscles remembered that time. Seeing, perhaps, the anger which drove Jeff, Sparrow stepped back and asked:

"You really mean to kill me then, and become captain?"

"Yes, you blithering fop!" Jeff replied, aiming a heavy stroke for Sparrow's hand, which he only narrowly missed.

There was a change in Sparrow's stance then – instead of being poised for constant movement, he stood straighter and taller, talking a few steps towards Jeff as their swords clashed together.

"Anamaria!" he called, without turning his head away from his opponent. "You heard that?"

"Aye" Was the weary reply.

The captain now took the offensive, aiming at Jeff with quick graceful thrusts. For a while the tall man held up admirably, but his wound, and his lack of agility were working heavily against him now. He parried late on a high thrust from Sparrow, and his sword was knocked out of his hand, before he could reach for his pistol, Sparrow had brought his left hand down over his sword, and with a deep breath plunged it into Cannonball Jeff's gut.

I flinched, and instinctively looked away. When I could bear to uncover my eyes, Jeff was lying on his back, the Captain's sword still sticking out of him, like a flagpost on some gory conquest.

Sparrow stood above him, so pale under his swarthy tan to appear almost grey. His hands were visibly shaking as he addressed his crew.

"Do any of you now oppose me?" He asked in a tired voice, as if reading from a script. With silence for his answer, he made his way to the helm and altered our course slightly to the north, in an attempt to catch the evasive wind. The crew got to work under his orders, and it was left to the night watch to give Jeff his last respects – "one, two, heave!" and the body splashed into the deep.

Anamaria was left standing on deck, hands on hips, apparently deep in thought. After a while a decision was evidently made, and she strode off to the galley.

The heat on deck was now beginning to match yesterday's, and it was only a moment before I joined her.

I found her sitting cross-legged on a barrel of salt beef, head in hands, bowed so low it was almost in her lap, crying with the abandonment of a child.

"Ana!" She looked up as I came in, wiping her nose with gusto on her coat sleeve. In a moment I had my arms about her. "Don't cry! My god, don't cry for that idiot." I muttered, stroking her hand. "He's been planning this, and he really meant to kill the Captain you know – I think he really hated him…."

"That's not why I'm crying, its…" She tailed off, and looked up, her watery dark eyes boring into mine. "You knew?"

"Pardon?"

"You knew he would call a duel?" For an answer I blushed deeply from neck to ears. "How long?" She snapped

"Only since last night."

"You didn't tell me." She muttered, suddenly jumping off the barrel and kicking it as hard has she could. "You bloody well didn't tell me!" She screamed "_You didn't tell me!_ Jack could be dead, Jesus" she swallowed down a sob "Jack could be _dead_ and you didn't tell me!"

"I'm sorry, Ana." And for a moment, I truly thought she would draw her cutlass on me, her hand hovered at her hip, I saw it and she knew I did. Her eye met mine for a beat, then she took a deep breath.

"You conspired against the Captain, as Quartermaster I have to punish you."

"Ana, no!" I cried out, dismayed "I'm your friend."

"Friend?" She bellowed in my face, composure suddenly lost – she grabbed me by the hair and lead me across the deck to the captain's quarters, calling out to Sparrow as she did so "Jack, this lubber of a mutineeress needs to be punished!" In a voice I believe no man would have dared argue with. In a flash he was down off the quarterdeck and had joined us in the cabin. Ana threw me down on the floor and she stood over me, with Sparrow beside her.

"Jack, I bring this crewmember up for the crimes of conspiring to mutiny, and murder her captain and withholding information from officers."

The Captain raised his eyebrows and peered down at me.

"Her?" He asked

"Yes, _her!_" Ana's sails were still up. "The articles demand she must be punished, they state twenty lashes…."

"Chirst Anamaria." Sparrow cut in, taken aback by her ferociousness. "Take some air, will you?" She left in a flurry of injured pride.

"Now then, my little shipmate – what exactly is it that you've supposed to have done?" He asked, offering me his hand, I took it, and we sat down at his table.

"I knew about Mr. Jeff's mutiny. I overheard him and his men talking last night."

"Makes no matter to me love, if I knew I would have still faced him in honest light of day – savvy?"

"Um, yes, quite." I replied, seeing my opportunity, having the Captain alone I continued; "He also said that if he was Captain, he'd take me home."

"Did he now." Sparrow put his feet up on the table and smirked.

"Yes sir, he did – what have you to say to that?"

"My mission cannot be halted for the likes of you, love."

"Oh yes, your mission!" I spat out, frustration causing me to loose all composure. "Your mission which puts all your men at risk, with no gains but to save your own sorry skin!"

"Not me love, to save my ship." He spoke rather sharply, and I rejoiced in finally having had an effect on this unflappable man. A gap in his armour.

"Your ship – ha! Not worth it, in my opinion." At this, he stood up and leant his face close to mine; his expression all lines and angles.

"And for what cause, young missy, would you kill a man?"


	9. Storm brewing

That night was an awkward one for Anamaria and me. I was already in bed when her watch finished, and I didn't say a word as she slipped out of her coat and breaches and climbed into bed next to me. I _would not _be the first one to speak.

While I lay there, arms crossed, staring out into the cabin, I felt something stir near my feet – it was Anamaria, placing her toes over mine, the way I had done on my first night, the way that had become out unspoken means of showing comfort and understanding.

"I'm sorry Ana."

"I'm sorry Cathy" We spoke at almost the same time. I laughed:

"You first."

"I'm sorry, you know I wouldn't really have whipped you?"

"I certainly hope not Ana." I replied, with a weak smile. "And I'm sorry I lied. I should have told you." Ana smiled back at me and opened her mouth to reply. "But, you should have told me about what Sparrow was doing, then I wouldn't have been eavesdropping down below."

"Aye."

"You know he can't do it, don't you?" She glanced at me, with that look of reservation in her eyes that drove me to distraction whenever I tried to get her to speak of Sparrow. But this time she signed and relinquished.

"No, he can't do it – Cortez himself couldn't." I pulled close to her under the blanket, enjoying our nighttime confidences once more.

"What will you do? What will he do?"

"Here's the rub. There _is_ the money to pay for the Pearl." News indeed!

"Where?"

"An island what cannot be found, except by those who already know where it is."

"Ana! Don't tease. Not when we were getting along so well!"

"I'm not teasing." Was all she said.

"Well, assuming Sparrow can find this magic island – what's to stop him taking the treasure?"

"It doesn't belong to him."

"Oh! Now I _know_ you're teasing. Captain Sparrow won't take treasure because it doesn't belong to him?"

"He won't, je jure en la tombe de ma mère."

"Fine, fine – well, why not?"

"Doesn't hold with the way it was got."

"And how was that?"

"I can't say." I frowned. "I can't Catherine. But you'll see – he'll take it now – what other choice does he have?"

"That's true. How long before the three weeks is up?"

"Four days tomorrow."

"No wonder you're all worried."

"No wonder. Catherine?"

"Yes?"

"I'd really like to sleep now."

The next morning I did not watch Sparrow from behind the glass, as had become my habit, but screwed up my courage and marched straight into his cabin. My curiosity was too much to be borne.

"Good morning Captain."

"Is it?" He replied, showing no sign of shock as I sat myself down opposite him. He was engrossed in removing the top of his boiled eggs – with his cutlass.

"Well no, it is hot and uncomfortable, but talk of the weather will keep."

"Undoubtedly." There was a sharp swish, as one egg was mercilessly decapitated. "Well, if not to talk of the weather – may I trouble you to ask what you want?" Sparrow did not look up, he was still in the business of executing his breakfast. A most strange man.

"Where do we sail?"

"To wealth and glory."

"Not to an island, then?" Sparrow looked up at _that_ and eyed me coolly, but did not reply. "An island that cannot be found, except by those…."

"Alright, alright missy." He cut in, waving his arms for silence. "And what have you to say on the matter?"

"It's true then?"

"True?" Sparrow stood, and took a swig from the flagon that habitually stood at his breakfast table before making his way towards me. I didn't take to him towering over me, so I stood to face him. For the first time I noticed we were precisely the same height. When he spoke I could smell the rum. "Aye love, it's true." His eyes were sad and wild. "There are a great many things in this world that you cannot even imagine, and they are all true, and much more besides." His voice was low, and he spoke with such passion and force of conviction, for a moment I felt all but lost in his dark, angry eyes.

The moment passed, and I could feel that accursed blush rising to my cheeks.

"Good day to you then, Captain." Was all I could utter, as I stumbled over my chair in my haste to leave the cabin.

On deck the hot air hit me like a solid thing. The sails hung slack, and the crew milled about deck, aimless. I made my way to the quarterdeck, where Anamaria was at the helm. There was a slight gasp of wind up here, and for a moment I leaned against the rail, catching my breath and feeling my face cool.

On deck the men were hanging out the lanteen sails, desperately trying to catch the evasive breeze from any direction.

"Are you worried about the lack of wind?" I asked Anamaria.

"No I'm not" Was her distracted reply. Eyes fixed on the distant horizon she gestured for me to stand next to her. "You see those." I looked down the sightline of her arm.

"There just a few clouds Ana. Anyway, it's not even June. You worry too much."

"Hurmph" was her only reply.

"Not even June yet." I repeated confidently, closing my eyes and leaning back on the gunwale..


	10. An Island

Nevertheless, I contrived to get back to sleep. I buried my head under the covers to block out the hideous screeching creaks of the boat, and the dulled pounding of boots on the deck overhead.

The water that had been let in by Sparrow sloshed around the cabin, and more was driven in under gaps in the door. The ship lurched and bucked like an unbroken horse, and within a few minutes my blanket, mattress and petticoats were soaked. Ana's sea chest moved about the room like something possessed. I had spent much of my life on boats, and had always managed to avoid any kind of sea sickness. But then I had also managed to avoid such storms as this, and shivering with damp and cold, I felt my stomach, empty since the long ago dinner, convulse.

Instinctively, I leant over the bunk, helplessly retching up burning bile from my empty gut. Again and again I was doubled up with spasms, my body seemed determined to wring me dry and it was nigh on five full minutes before I was allowed to lean back on the pillow, eyes streaming, and catch my breath.

All night the storm raged, and all night I did not sleep, but was plagued by sickness and wretched wakefulness. Every groaning creak of the hull, every snap of wet sails, every wave breaking against us was like thunder in my head – quite apart from the _actual _thunder above, and the rain – endless pounding rain! A thousand rats scampering across the deck all night would have sounded more pleasant.

I don't know when I finally feel to sleep, but it must have been near dawn. It was a light, fitful sleep, troubled by dark dreams, half-seen and half-understood, but fully terrible.

It was from these dreams I awoke, thrashing and screaming in my damp bedsheets, the wound in my ear throbbing anew. Only to find my Captain standing over me, a bowl of water in one hand, sponge in another. I saw his look of concern, and watched it turn to embarrassment as my eyes focused on him.

"The Quartermaster's at the helm, she asked me to…." He muttered, stepping back as he spoke. He looked ridiculous, the dramatic clothes, hair and hat cramped into our tiny cabin. I pushed back the hair that was stuck to my brow.

"Thank you Captain." I always felt more at my ease when that brash man was unnerved.

"Your dreams." He murmured, staring at my intently, as if struck by a thought. I returned the look blankly. "They're so full of,… of anger."

"How would you know?" I asked, pulling the blanket around me, as if that protected me from his perception.

"You shout." He continued to regard me with that disagreeably searching stare. Another thought struck him, and he knelt by the bunk. "You hate being here." It was a question.

"No." I answered truthfully – Ana was the dearest friend I had ever had, I could not regret meeting her. The captain smiled – gently, not one of his usual dazzling grins, and smoothed down my frizzy black locks. I forgot to flinch.

"Maybe you'll be a pirate yet, young missy."

At that moment, the door to the cabin was slammed open.

"Land ho!..oh!" It was Anamaria. In an instant I saw what she saw – her friend, lying in bed, the Captain kneeling over her, hand about her face. I'm sure Sparrow felt the change in temperature as my face blushed like a beacon, from neck to hairline.

Sparrow jumped up, too quick for me to see if I really did notice his own cheeks redden a little.

"The Island?" He asked gruffly.

"The. Island." Was her brief reply, before turning smartly on her heels and matching out of the room, an exit any snobbish girl of Bridgetown would have been proud of.


	11. Of wealth and glory

**woohoo, another chapter. Slightly longer this time, as ideas have been brewing all week at work. Infact, I have another two chapters ready for updating, but I'm pacing myself-- lest I give away too much too soon and lose all interest :P**

**By the way - anyone who can tell me anything about how watches were arranged on ships would be very helpful. So far I've been saying day watch and night watch - but I KNOW this isn't right and it's very frustrating. I know they're arranged by the nautical habit of telling time with bells (one bell every half an hour, or something) but I don't really understand that either :(**

* * *

The Pearl was a near wreck. The sailors had worked quickly and managed to batten down all the square-rigged sails, and had used only the fore and aft rigged try sails to guide us through the storm. But even those had proved too much strain on the mizzenmast, and it had split in two, from top to base, leaving it useless. This would unbalance the foremast and make it difficult to use – leaving us with only one the mainmast, cutting our sail-power by two thirds.

As if this wasn't bad enough, the hull was crippled and broken in several places, much of the Pearl's fine carvings had been ripped off, and two of the boats had been smashed to matchwood. The dear chickens had also been washed overboard.

The only joy was that we had found land. But what land – a dark, desolate island, nothing grew on its black surface, it was barely more than a rocky outcrop in the middle of the grainy, misty morning light. There was nothing else to be seen on the empty ocean.

The crew however, seemed excited and skittish in the presence of the island. They were haggard, their clothes in damp disarray from the storm, but they were working feverously to bring the wounded Pearl into a small bay of rocks and prepare the boats. They spoke in hushed, quickened voices, but even whispers carried on the sharp morning air. At my customary seat on the forecastle I could hear all. Pueblo was talking about El Dolrardo, an Aztec island of untold wealth, apparently discovered by Spanish sailors.

Once the anchors were weighed, Sparrow stepped down from the helm, and walked slowly across the main deck, his face grim. The crew immediately stopped their murmuring, and parted to let him though. They were eager to hear who would go ashore. I looked over the day watch, wondering who would merit the Captain's favour.

Duncan would have been my first choice, after the Quartermaster and the Boatswain. Chang should by rank earn a place, but the whole crew knew he had been an ally of Jeff's and was unlikely to be chosen.

Billy, the cabin boy and fully the youngest person on board at twelve years old should be allowed, by my count. True, he was on the night watch and probably asleep in his hammock by now, but the lad was so quick and eager the trip ashore would delight him. Cotton was a steady hand in a crisis, and would undoubtedly be taken. Halfpint, though only four foot tall, was worth his salt, Cairo….

"…And Miss Barbrook."

I looked up at my name, I hadn't noticed the Captain begin to speak. Ana, a picture of impatience, spied me on the forecastle and called my down.

And so a very small and strange landing party we made, Sparrow, Gibbs, Anamaria and me. Duncan was left in command, though the Code dictated that should have fallen to Chang, no one argued.

Sparrow was at the oars, aiming us for a cleft between two of the islands many rocky spits of land. He sat amidships, with his back to me and Ana, but something about the set line of his shoulders as he rowed, and the grim continence of Gibbs, who sat facing the rest of us in the fore of the vessel, told me he was not in the best of moods.

"Shouldn't we be baring a little more leeboard?" Ana's words rang out like bells in the crisp morning.

Sparrow didn't reply, but with a grunt threw his weight into another stroke of the oars, and maintained his course.

I don't know what imp of mischief moved me that morning, but Sparrow had flustered me earlier in the cabin, and now I was determined to have the advantage over him.

"How did such a useless scrap of land come about?" I asked, as sharply as I could.

"Underground volcano." Came the growled response.

"I can't imagine there's anything of value here." Ana gave me a warning glance.

"Are ye familiar with the term '_buried_ treasure'?"

"I've only heard it in stories, Captain. You're going to loose your ship." Sparrow stopped mid-stroke and slammed the oars down in the water, splashing us all.

"If we _must_ bring that wench with us, can we at least gag her?" he spat out. "I'd rather have that snivelling fool Chang aboard than…"

"Jack." Ana spoke softly, but immediately the Captain fell silent, though I fancied I could still here him muttering under his breath.

I smiled to myself. Gibbs caught my eye from across the boat, he was also trying to stifle a smile.

For a while now we had been making our way parallel to the island, presently we came to a yawning shallow cave. We _would_ have got their quicker had we steered further leeboard, but I daren't look across at Ana to see if she noticed this.

We entered the cave, there was a moment of grey twilight, then all was blackness. I could see nothing and hear nothing save the gentle splash of water against the boat and the occasional drip from somewhere far above. I had a feeling of space around me and I wondered how such a small opening could conceal something so large. Presently, Gibbs lit a lamp and hung it in the prow of the boat, giving us a little light. I could see we were in a large cavern, the rocks formed into strange shapes from years of water dripping down and running off its surface. We were only a tiny pool of light in the vast darkness, but ahead I thought I could make out a darker patch of black.

As we got closer, it became clearer – the dark patch was a tunnel, wide at the mouth, but quickly narrowing down so only one man could pass it at a time. We left the boat and Sparrow set off down the tunnel down the tunnel, but I hung back.

"What about the lantern?" I asked, making to remove it from the boat.

"Never mind about that now." Ana, usually so solemn, pulled on my hand like some impatient child.

I followed them down the tunnel, determined not to show my fear. The walls were dank and the sand beneath my feet was clammy and stuck between my toes. The other three seemed to be able to find their way well enough in the gloom, but I had to hold fast to Ana's hand in order not to stumble and loose them. After what felt like an age the tunnel began to widen and the air felt fresher. I stepped round a corner and was blinded by a dazzling light.


	12. Eight hundred and eighty two pieces

I stood at the edge of cave and stared, mouth slightly ajar, not believing what I could see. I _had_ heard of buried treasure – but the idea of a musty chest under three feet of sand did not compare to this. The caves of the Isle De Muerta was an image firmly fixed in my mind after this brief visit, and even today I cannot find the words to describe the place. It is beyond description. Gold, in the form of coins, jewelry and ornaments, covers every available surface. The place sparkles like the inside of a diamond. I was no stranger to wealth, but these caves overwhelmed me.

I gazed, taken aback, at Sparrow, who was stepping through the endless gold, here and there touching pieces as if they were old friends. Once again I took in his shabby, unfashionable clothes, unkempt hair, rough hands and scarred face, I wondered what he was doing living the life he did; here was enough treasure to live in luxury for the rest of his days!

The others were making their way through the hoard, like harvesters in a wheat field, culling what they needed. Sparrow, picking up a bronzed statue from a vantage point across the cave, spotted me standing agog.

"Are you here to help, or to sit there moonstruck?" Shaken out of my surprise, I made my way over to Gibbs. Ana, I knew well enough, would not tell me one thing about this mysterious place, no matter how much I begged her.

"Mr. Gibbs, what is this place?" I asked rather breathlessly as I tried to keep up with his businesslike pace, taking the trinkets he handed to me.

"The Isle De Muerta, secret anchorage of the cursed pirate crew of the Black Pearl." I stumbled, letting a string of jet beads fall from my grasp.

"What?"

"Oh, not us missy, ye have no need to worry about that. That's the crew that was under control of the evil Captain Barbossa, who Jack killed, despite him being under a curse of immortality. Some say it was because the bullet Jack used was moved by righteousness, and it sent Barbossa straight to hell." I listened, saucer-eyed. Gibbs could always be relied upon for a good tale, but this beat them all. "Aye, his soul may have gone to hell, but his body is buried on this very island. Some say it's best not too take to much of the treasure, or you may uncover the damned Captain, rotting in his own greed." I quickly pulled my hand away from a large pile of doubloons.

"That's why the Captain didn't want to take the treasure!" I exclaimed, realization dawning. "And _that's_ why he took me to help instead of any of the crew – he doesn't want them finding the body either!"

"No young missy, that not it. Them's be true pirates on the Pearl – steadfast man, good sailors – but greedy and covetous down to their very bones. If they knew there was so much shine here they would take it _all_, most likely kill Sparrow and spend their whole lives regretting it."

"He's just a greedy coward them." I commented. "Wants all this for himself, and won't share it with his crew – dishonest I call that." I said with a snort, hoping Sparrow was close enough to hear.

"Cowardice doesn't come into it. Ye see that chest over yonder." There was a chest, an ancient stone thing, onto which fell the single shaft of sunlight that was reflected in all this gold. "In that chest there be eight hundred and eighty two pieces of…."

"Gibbs." Sparrow strode over, almost wading through the coins. "I'd wager we have enough now, I'm anxious to get back to the Pearl, _quietly_."

"Aye sir."

It took us some time longer to get back to the ship, laden as we were with riches. The tide was not with us, and Gibbs, Ana and Sparrow took turns battling against it with the oars. All told it was nearing what I had once called high tea time when we were safe aboard the Black Pearl.

Duncan was at the helm, and had had the presence of mind to make sure most of the watch were below deck making repairs when we landed. It was Cotton and Pueblo who hauled up the boat and helped us stash the haul into Sparrow's cabin. It would have been too bulky to take the Pearl's worth in coin, so we had mostly picked up jewelry – gold or silver and heavily set with stones, and statues in gold and bronze. "So pretty." I had commented, "Easy to melt down." was Sparrow's opinion.

"El Dolrardo." Pueblo breathed, handling the pieces with a kind of reverence, I wondered if he had ever seen such opulent ornaments before.

"Pieces of eight, pieces of eight." Cotton's parrot squawked in agreement.

We set sail for Tortuga later that evening. The crew were mostly too busy with keeping the ship afloat to gossip much more about our brief visit to the island, and Ana commented dryly to me that the storm may have been a blessing in disguise.

Indeed, if nothing else it had certainly proved to clear the air and raise everyone's spirits, including my own. Soon this voyage would be over and Sparrow would take me home! Home. The word had a curious resonance in my stomach, and mind leapt away from the fact it would mean never seeing Ana again, never joining in sea shanties in the Berth.

But that evening I pushed those ideas from my thoughts, and sat alone on the forecastle, enjoying the fresh night air and the extra grog Sparrow had ordered for every hand aboard, the rum being in too short supply to drink neat.

The storm had chased away all the clouds and the stars wheeled above me, I leaned back – head on the gunwale, making myself dizzy by staring straight up into the heavens. I had always been fascinated with the stars, we were land bound, and indeed bound by the rules of the land. Yet the stars obeyed no rules but the timeless ones of orbit. Strange that they should at once be so precise as to be able to set a course by them, and at the same time be such things of mystery and superstition. Astrology and the blasted ramblings of fortune tellers came from the position of the stars, and yet it was also a new star which began our country's own religion.

As a girl, I had never been allowed to learn astronomy, and certainly not astrology. For hours and hours I had battled with French, and yet never had never met a Frenchman who didn't address me in my native tongue, been taught to read philosophical questions I wasn't permitted to answer, could play the piano better than the people we hired for that purpose. Yet I had to remain ignorant about one entire half of my landscape.

I knew I was mulling over old grievances, and regretfully tore my eyes away from the sky and looked about the ship instead.

It was all lines of shadow, thrown up by the rigging and sheets. A pirate ship never liked to advertise its presence, and there were few lamps on the Black Pearl. A couple of sailors were about, keeping our course. Sparrow was still above deck as well – not at the helm, which was manned by Gibbs, but as close as, sitting on the steps to the quarterdeck, hat off, boot-clad legs stretched out, evidently enjoying his grog. I sighed, in all my spying and musing, I had really not got any further in my purpose. Oh, I knew enough to rile the fool, but I still didn't _understand_ him.

What was this man about?


	13. Grog

_What was this girl about?_

_This girl who was always standing in corners, watching, watching with that imperious, knowing look of hers?_

_This tubby little girl who held herself like a queen, though her hair was frizzed and her frock ravaged by salt water and sun. This girl who blushed if you met her eyes, but who attacked like a shrew if you didn't mind her._

_I sat, watching her watching me, letting my mind wander. Was she wondering the same wonders about me?_

_It pays, of course, to be mysterious in my line of work. Don't write your life's story on your face and don't wear your heart with your hankie. Truth be known though, I knew as little about her as she did about me._

_Her father was a pompous ass, if that jumped up little trader was her father. That ship was rich, though probably not as rich as she thought, I didn't see…_

_I caught myself just in time, I didn't really know even this about her – I was assuming. And assuming was for others to do. Not Captain Jack Sparrow._

_On that happy note I took another swig of grog. The world may have got a little more blurred, but I could still see that horizon just as clear as ever._

_It would have been easy to seduce her. Ana would have kicked up hell, but even so…What stopped me I don't know. Oh, she's not a great beauty. But not repulsive, oh no, not by any means. A man can always find something to like about a woman, at least so I've guessed looking at some of the odd pairings I've seen about the years. The real trick about a wench was to look beautiful _despite_ all the unfashionable defects. That's why the girl was a peach even in straining corsets and a sulky face._

_So - pretty, there was no argument about that. But not easy to pin down, and conquests are only that if you can see it all played out in your head, and steer the evening as easily as a sloop. That girl, that particular girl, was unpredictable. She was tricksy. I came to the conclusion rather regretfully with another gulp of that weak, accursed grog, no – this girl was not for bedding, she was for _understanding.

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**A/N at the end of this chapter, so as not to spoil the flow. I kind of feel like I've betrayed my commitment to Catherine's by swapping over to Jack, but try as I might I was having trouble understandnig him, and the only way to get over it was to get into that crazy pirate's head... What do you think?**


	14. Tortuga

**Gah, it's taken me FOREVER to write this chpater, totally scrapped it and started over three times, but finally got there! I've also been tuning up the rest of the story, no major changes, just got rid of the MANY typo's and spiffed things up a bit...**

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We sailed as fast as the poor, battered Pearl would take us all through the night, and into the next day. Using every sail the mainmast could hold, we were not making bad time, especially since the lively wind that had sprung up after the storm was entirely in our favor.

The crew were excited at the prospect of their grim voyage being over, and getting onto dry land to spend their share of the plunder from the ships. However, the closer we got to land, the more miserable I felt, I didn't understand it - even Anamaria couldn't cheer me up.

On my last night aboard the Pearl Ana was in command of the night watch, and I took advantage of the vacated cabin to retire early and be alone with my thoughts.

I looked around the tiny cramped space, and instead of feeling stifled, as I had on my first night, the bunk seemed cozy, the lantern's yellow light played on the familiar dull sheen of Ana's trunk, the whorls and joints of the sloping walls, the sliding of the shadows as the ship gently rocked.

I would be sorry to leave, I realized, very sorry. Oh, I was anxious to see my dear mother again, but not desperately – my old life didn't seem real. I struggled to conjure up any sense of longing for my flutter-headed old friends, for my dresses and for the long echoing corridors of my plantation home. I wouldn't know what to do in all of that space.

My lids began to grow heavy, and my thoughts unraveled. For now, I thought with the last thread of consciousness, for now I would enjoy the last night in my dear little cabin, and try and get some sleep.

"Where are they? I'm _not_ going ashore without them!" I was hot, I was sweaty, I _knew_ I was being unreasonable – but I slammed my foot on the damp deck and bawled; "Where are my panniers?"

During my early days aboard the Pearl, Ana had taken it upon herself to see me attired more comfortably for the Caribbean heat. First went my heavy taffeta over-dress, then the embroidered bodice, and finally the striped underskirt, and with it the linen-and-whalebone panniers that held up the fashionably wide 'robe a la franciase' .

Dressing only in my stays, chemise and petticoat had become normal aboard the Pearl. By all accounts, even in petticoats I was considered overdressed by Tortuga standards, however – I was not quite ready to walk amongst the general public in my underwear.

My panniers had become the great joke of the Black Pearl, when they were discovered. They had been worn as a hat, as an Elizabethan ruff, raised as a flag and used as a nest by the late ship's chickens.

Now, however – they were nowhere to be found and without them my dress didn't hang right. Without them it didn't hang at all, it _dragged_. I stumbled about the deck, falling over yards of soggy crimson taffeta, my blushes increasing with my frustration.

The crew offered no help, but simply sniggered at my impeded progress. After nearly a month of being ship-bound they were eager to walk on dry land and had neither the time nor the inclination to go pannier-hunting.

"What be the problem, young missy?" Called out a cheerful voice from the quarterdeck. Sparrow strode towards me in his easy, rolling gate and coolly observed me – ruffled, flustered and drowning in taffeta.

"My dress is too long!"

With a raised eyebrow, Sparrow drew his sword, and with a steady hand, gathered up the swathes of loose material and freed it from me with one decisive cut.

"Now it's not." He grinned, then stepped back to address his crew; "Why aren't we docked?" Then turned wildly on his heels and wandered off, whistling between his teeth.

Leaving me in a puddle of amputated dress, with chilly ankles.

Anamaria left off hauling on the mainsheets and strolled over, giggling when she saw my shocked expression.

"Don't cry, you've plenty more at home." My face must have visibly clouded over, as Anamaria's smile dropped like a stone. She opened her mouth to speak, but her face stayed blank and she simply gave me a quick squeeze about the shoulders before returning to her work.

I sighed – home.

Bridgetown didn't feel like home any more, it felt like a distant dream, whose fascination looses its grip the longer you are awake. Yet the Pearl wasn't quite home either.

I glanced over at the misty, early morning harbor. It had the nondescript looks of harbors everywhere. I doubted Tortuga would be my new home, so where did that leave me?

Alone, it seemed.

I jumped – why had that word occurred to me? I looked around, the deck was bare, and all the crew were crowed into our two remaining longboats.

"You coming Cath?" Ana held out her hand from the stern of the second boat.

Mustering a faint smile, I stepped out of my abandoned dress trailings and squeezed a space between Ana and Halfpint.


	15. Freedom

**Just wanted to say a BIG thank-you to everyone who's reviewed since I last updated! It really heps to know what other people think of my story, and it's good to know where I've gone wrong (and even better to know when I've got it right!) I've got a few more chapters written, so hopefully will be updating quickly :D**

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"Why is he closed? He's _never_ closed!" Sparrow protested loudly, rattling at the locked door. "Levrett, _Levrett_!"

"Jack." Ana sighed heavily. The harbor was still silent and mistly, we seemed to be the only people about. The ship yard of 'Levrett Scrivner – ships fitted out, carrened and repaired.' Was clearly closed. Only sparrow never quiet, never still, disturbed the sleepy scene. "Jack, he's not…"

"Waddayawant, yer limey…." The head the screeched at us from a chink in the door looked as wrinkled and dark as the barrel of apples on the Pearl. "…Jack! Come in, come in. And Gibbs! Anamaria! And…" His eyes rested on me, and narrowed slightly, furrowing even more wrinkles. "..And who be this?"

"She's with me." Both Ana and Sparrow spoke at once.

I gave Sparrow a curious glance, but he was preoccupied with a smut on his jacket sleeve and a sudden troublesome cough.

"I am Catherine Barbrook, daughter of Charles and Kathleen Barbrook, of Bridgetown, Barbados." I spoke firmly, trying to meet the shifty eyes of this sprightly man. But it was to Sparrow he spoke.

"Can she be trusted?" Sparrow looked up sharply, his pirate eyes wide and innocent.

"Yes, she can!" It was Anamaria who answered, pushing past her captain. "Levrett, we were caught in that storm, two days back. The mizzen's split and the foremast near useless. We're taking on a powerful amount of water, but I can't rightly tell how bad the damage below water. How soon can you dry-dock us?" Under Ana's diamond hard glare, the man shuffled fully out from behind his door.

"Well, Hancy's at sea this moment, I'd have to get hold of Crookie and Israil…" Levrett leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed in calculation "…How's noon?"

"Noon?" Ana muttered some words in French before replying "Noon. Right." The man twisted like a fish under the Quartermasters eyes.

"Will you not take some breakfast, then?"

I sat at a rickety table, in a kitchen smaller than the Pearl's galley, trying to ascertain whether it would be prudent to spoon the grey, lumpy porridge out under the table when Levrett looked away. Sparrow and Ana seemed to be having similar problems, though Gibbs was tucking in enthusiastically.

"I remember a time you used to eat beef for every meal." Muttered Sparrow, letting his porridge fall from his spoon back into his bowl, it dropped with a _thump_.

"Well…" Levrett took a deep breath between spoonfuls. "Business ain't what it was. Bastard Navy. Ships don't need repairing any more. Not unless _you_ know how to raise wrecks?" he gave a short, humorless laugh, spluttering out porridge. "Maybe I should switch to coffin-making. Money just isn't there. Ain't here no more either, come to that." He gave a wide gesture to indicate the whole town, and pushed back his bowl. Sparrow leaned forward in amazement, even tipped the bowl to make sure it was empty. "Reckon it's time to move on. Though I don't reckon where. Port Royal was dead long ago, Nassau's gone straight. Surprised to see you still about, if I'm honest Jack."

"Aye, well." Sparrow dropped the bowl and sat back slowly. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

"And I'm the queen of France." Ana stood up decisively. "And if we can't dock until noon, then _you_ Jack, need to see a man about a ship."

Ana glared daggers at the unflappable man, who met her gaze steadily, with a languorous grin. They both jumped at a sudden belch.

"What?" Gibbs rounded jowls turned pink. "Better out than in, says I."

We set off in the direction of the Pearl. There were now some men about on the harbor, but they didn't seem to be doing much beyond milling around and chatting.

"Catherine." Ana grabbed my hand and stood back from Sparrow and Gibbs. "Come on, leave them to it." I looked at the two rapidly disappearing figures.

"Won't they mind?"

"Jack will understand."

Ana kept hold of my hand as we walked through the streets. The houses and taverns were small and cramped together, but no worse than some of the darker areas of Bridgetown. There was a preponderance of inns, and shops selling basic provisions and nautical equipment, and very little in the way of private houses. Soon the buildings spaced out and fell away.

On the rocky, hilly land above the town, there was a small house, with a large fenced garden. And in the garden were… it was only then I noticed the small, stumpy steeple.

"There's a _church_ in Tortuga?" I asked incredulously.

"The most pious in the Spanish Main." Ana replied firmly, as she opened the gate, it creaked. "there's something I want to show you."

**Marieé Affranchi**

**Died 12th August 1723**

"**Liberté donnes vous vie"**

I knelt down by the grave, and ran my hand over the engraved letters.

"Freedom gives you life?"

Ana gave a shy little smile.

"Not that fitting for a headstone perhaps, but mere would have liked it." Ana smoothed down the damp grass, and ran her hands over a dead, wilting bouquet of flowers. "I paid for this headstone. When I got back here they'd buried her under a wooden cross!" She sighed, and I tried not to notice her eyes welling up. "I couldn't give her the life she deserved, but I'd sure as hell give her a stone grave."

"It's beautiful Ana." It was only then I realized I too was fighting back the tears.

"Took me three months to get it engraved. Each voyage I would come back and pay the engraver for another word. Craftsmen make a killing on Tortuga, no honest bugger'd work for us, so they can charge what they like." She picked off some lichen and repeated; "Three months, but I did it."

We knelt, facing each other across the grave, one dress and one pair of breeches soaking up the morning dew. Though cagy about Sparrow, there were times when Ana was so open and honest with me, it was unnerving. At that time I still was not used to it, and struggled for something to say. Something to show I appreciated her sharing this piece of past with me.

I failed, the moment of closeness went, and Ana's face held it's customary coolness by the time I unstuck my mouth to say;

"I didn't know she lived on Tortuga."

"Pirate, whores and slaves." Ana shrugged as she stood, brushing loose grass and dirt from her knees. "Only place I know of where the folks don't judge."

"You talk like its utopia." I said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

"Aye, mayhap." From the vantage point of the graveyard she looked down over the town; low dark buildings sulkily huddled in a cleft of rock.


	16. Cinnabar

**A/N - before I begin, just wanted to say another big thank you to everyone who's reviewed - it makes me a happy bunny :) Sorry this chapter's fairly short, and that nothing really happens,but the next one will be very looooong. They really belong as one, but that would make it too unwieldy, and you'd get bored... **

**Oh yeah - the bit at the end is a flashback, I'm sure you'd have realised, but thought I'd just point it out...**

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"For ----- sake!" Sparrow's first day on land had evidently not improved his mood. It was evening, and once again he was standing before a closed door. Only this one wasn't just locked, it was boarded up.

As were the windows, the sign 'The Faithful Bride' was hanging askew and a bird has made a nest in a hole on the roof.

"Three weeks! Three ------- weeks we're away. And they close the bar. My favorite bar!" His tone was that of anger mixed with deep injury.

This tavern, as Sparrow had been enthusing to me all afternoon, had the cheapest rum – fermented in the cellar to the landlord's secret recipe. The worst "Cutthroat bastards a man could wish to meet" frequented it. And the girls, "Oh the girls Cathie, you've never seen such girls. Take you to heaven and pick your pocket in a matter of minutes."

From this I gathered these were all to be considered good things. However, the people of Tortuga evidently didn't hold the same view, now it was nothing more than a shut up old shack.

Sparrow leaned against a wall, and slowly slid in a slouch on the uneven cobbled street.

Ana shot me a look. It was a look I often received when we were in the presence of Sparrow. It meant 'Say nothing and wait'. While we waited, I heard a noise lift up and distinguish itself from the general clamor of a Tortuga evening.

It was Billy, the cabin boy, kicking up a stink as only a pirate can. The reason for this soon became clear. Gibbs was dragging him along by his ear.

Sparrow looked up, all dark eyes and shining teeth under his hat.

"Tell your Captain where I found you." Intoned Gibbs, every inch the patriarch. Billy sulked, and scuffed his boots. He may have muttered something, but it was unintelligible and ended in a cough.

"_William._"

"A house of ill repute, Cap'n." He rushed out Sparrow sat up straight at this.

"Oh aye, where?"

"Captain! He's only twelve! I _told_ you a full share was too much for him! A half share is enough for any cabin boy." Sparrow shrugged.

"I always had a full share as a lad."

"You _stole_ it!"

"Then, if you think about it." Sparrow replied with a flourish of his hand. "I'm _stopping_ the boy from stealing."

Gibbs spluttered, and gave up – wandering off muttering "Daft, daft. As. A. Brush."

Sparrow held out his hands, Billy grabbed them and dragged him up, the pair shared a grin.

"Ill repute, you say?" Sparrow clapped Billy on the back and strolled off. "Lead the way!"

Ana glanced at me, and with a sigh peeled herself off the wall she had been leaning against, uncrossed her arms and headed off after them.

"Oh, Ana – no!" I cried out, aghast.

"Catherine, you're in Tortuga now." She swayed and waved her arms about, in a fair impression of our captain. "Savvy?"

We opened the door, above which hung the banner 'Visco's Pneumatic Traveling Theater And Music Hall Show'. As soon as I walked in the, the smell of lead face paint and cinnabar hit me……

"……Cinnabar; a little here, here, oh – and just there." My mother dusted me with a red powder, it made me sneeze. "Now, let's see how you look."

She took me by the shoulders and spun me round to face the mirror – a small round face looked back at me. My eyebrows had been covered up with wax, and thin arches painted above them. My lips were an exaggerated cupid's bow, my cheeks red with cinnabar rouge, and a heart shaped beauty patch set off the pale paint underneath it all. I grinned, making the powder crack round the edges of my mouth. Surely I was the prettiest ten year old in the world.

"Beautiful." My mother's face, thinner and older, but painted to match my own, appeared in the mirror next to mine. She started to fuss with my hair, draw it back into ringlets as she spoke. "It's like a mask, isn't it Cath-a-bobbin? A beautiful, beautiful mask. You wear masks for all the best parts, you know that? And that's what life's about – playing a part, and playing it well. Because the whole world is just a stage. Shakespeare said that. 'All the world's a stage; and the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his life plays many parts'." She smiled quickly and sharply. "Always remember that Cath-a-bobbin. It's all just a play, a show." Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and I squirmed in her grip.

"Tell me about how you met Daddy." I demanded, dragging her to the comfy chair and settling myself at her feet.

"Very well." She brushed down her skirts, and took up the familiar tale, starting as she always did; "It was opening night of the Beggars Opera, and we were running late because Elsie had lost her wig. About we ran, all of a fluster, when in barged this merchantman. He was dressed in his finest silks, hair powder flying everywhere, demanding to know why the play hadn't started…"


	17. Eastern Princess

**A/N - my thanks once again to everyone that's reviewed - I love to hear your comments, good or bad - they always inspire me.**

**I also want to thank Sarah for reading this before I posted it, giving me some great pointers, and for being the inspiration for a little cameo that pops up in this chapter...**

**Guess I should warn you that it all gets a bit deep and dark. The more time Catherine spends away from her stifled home life, the more her mind wakes up, and ergo the more we learn about what she see's and how she feels. Hope you like it :)**

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I snorted, blowing the smell out of my nose.

"And one man in his life plays many parts." I muttered under my breath.

"Couldn't have put it better myself love." Sparrow, I swear, had materialized out of the gloom beside me. "But hush now, and take a seat – the show's about to begin."

We sat at a table, several were arranged around a makeshift stage area. A grubby velvet curtain hung over a door.

A man sat on a tall stool off to one side. He began to strum a fiddle, and sing a ballad about an Eastern Princess.

I entertained myself by looking around at the other customers. They looked like any dock workers of sailors, I found it hard to believe every last one of them were pirates.

Suddenly a collective gasp escaped the audience, and my attention was drawn back to the stage.

I stared transfixed.

There was a woman dancing. I assumed it was dancing, though it was not like any dance I knew. The Woman's body moved like a snake, she looked like she had no bones. Slowly, slowly her hips tipped and rolled, her arms out slightly at her sides, rippling like waves, ending in delicate twitches if her wrists.

She was dressed in layer upon layer of sheer, gauzy material, which gave the illusion of revealing while keeping her covered, and made her shimmer like a jewel.

Her hair was what my hair dreamed of being; dark, thick and gently wavy. It fell about her shoulders like tendrils of smoke. As she rolled her shoulders her hair writhed and tumbled like the rest of her, falling in her eyes as she looked about the room, holding some of the men's gaze for a beat, then moving on.

In my mind, I compared her straight, supple serpentine body to my own rounded one. I could feel the bulges of stomach pressing against my stays – a pressure that had become so normal I barely noticed it. I watched her legs flex as she rose on the balls of her feet and back again, knowing under my dress my own legs sat, stumpy in ripped stockings. I watched the layers of her clothes shift over her, and ate up her elegance and poise, thinking despairingly of my struggling gait in heavy taffeta.

In short, I was agog.

She wore no stays, no wig, certainly no panniers, her clothes followed the line of nature. I had never seen such a powerful and perfect image of all that being a woman meant to me.

As the ballad reached its finale, the dancer began to move about the room. For a second she stood in front of our table, her kohl-lined eyes met mine with a slight raise of delicate eyebrows, then moved on.

I felt the hairs on my arm rise.

"Her make-up looks like yours." I commented jokingly to Sparrow, to cover my embarrassment. He laughed and snaked his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in to whisper in a confidential tone;

"I'm not looking at her eyes, love."

All at once, I was disgusted. Could no one see what I saw? This incredible form, at once delicate and powerful – better and purer than all of them? Truly, as my mother once said – men only think with what fills their britches!

I shrugged off Sparrow's grip, and left the tavern all in a rush.

Outside, it was like coming up from underwater. The fresh night air breathed away all trace of the cloying cinnabar, and the thick sent of unwashed men, smoking and drinking.

I took deep draughts of the clean dark air, and when I felt the flush drain from my cheeks, I contrived to find somewhere to sit.

Around the side of the tavern was an area sheltered by the overhanging balcony of its neighbor, strewn with abandoned barrels and cargo boxes.

A small, scruffy dog was roused as I settled down amongst the boxes, and scurried off into the night.

Leaning back, I could see patches of starlight between trailings of Spanish creeper that poured over the balcony.

All around me was the muffled sound of revelers, occasionally spilling out into the street when a door or window was opened.

I closed my eyes and let it wash over me. It had been such a long day….

"You alright, love?"

I started, the voice stopped my decent into sleep and for a moment I felt like I was falling. The words were Sparrow's, but the voice wasn't and when I opened my eyes, it was not him standing there.

"Inara?" It was the dancing girl, I called her by the name of the girl in the ballad. She laughed, her intonation was strange, I had left England so long ago, I had never heard a Scotts accent.

"It's Sarah, love." She replied with a grunt, as she hoisted herself onto a barrel. Once again I stared unashamedly at her. She was wearing a simple dress of course linen, her tumultuous hair hastily piled back. With one leg bent, she let the other dangle free, showing a sturdy boot, and a flash of white calf.

"Nice night, ain't it?" She leaned back against the wall as she spoke, idly swinging her free leg. If she had been sitting on a street in Bridgetown I wouldn't have given her a second glace.

The feeling was a similar to the one I had as a child, when I was allowed to see a magic lantern show at the harbor. The dragons and serpents had looked so real, but even so disappointment mixed with relief when I saw the old conjurer packing up his sheet and coloured lenses.

She shifted her weight with another grunt, and procured a pipe from somewhere about her person.

"You smoke?"

I shook my head.

"Good." She said between clenched teeth as she lit the pipe. "Nasty habit." She let out a long, slow sigh with a round of smoke rings. She grinned at me as they floated away. It was a friendly, reassuring sort of grin. Quite different from her beautiful, dark, cold face in the tavern. I was suddenly emboldened.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" She shrugged.

"My mother, aunts, cousins, grandmothers." A sudden flash in her eyes, a glimpse of Inara. "They were gypsies."

"It was," I paused "Lovely. I only know boring dances." I began to reel off a list of the ballroom formations every girl back on Barbados knew.

"You can do _all_ of them?" She asked in a squeal of excitement, suddenly looking more alive. I blushed to have this incredible woman in awe of me.

"But who can't?"

"Me! You must teach me!" In an instant she was off the barrel and tugging at my arms. "Come on!"

I couldn't take in the breath to argue.

"Strike you up something fancy, Keep." Sarah called out to the man on the fiddle, his eyes rested with some surprise on me, but drew out the opening bars of a lively tune I had often heard echoing round grand halls and salons.

At first I was terrible. Sarah stood so close I could hardly get my words out, and the knowledge that Sparrow was still sitting at our table in the dark of the tavern didn't help.

But slowly, I felt the words and phrases of my dancing teacher take over. After a while we were whirling about the makeshift stage, touching hands, and wheeling in and out of imaginary dancing partners. When the dance was over Sarah collapsed, laughing breathlessly, against my chest.

"Oh! I think I'll keep to my kind of dancing – this knocks the wind out of you! Come on, you've earnt yourself a drink."

Sarah knocked back her tot of rum as soon as it slammed down on the table, and I did the same. It warmed my throat, sliding down to my stomach. Truth be told I was more used to wine, and this rum was better quality than the stuff we got on the Pearl.

The more we drank, the easier the dancing became. Sarah was a natural talent, and picked up the steps easily. And truth be known, I had much more fun dancing with her lithe frame, holding her strong, small, warm hand, than any number of stiff young navy officers.

We attracted attention, and soon Sarah had recruited other members of the traveling theatre to join us. Six was still a small number for these dances. But, surprisingly, it was easier to dodge a real partner than an imagined one.

After a while, I could here a sharp noise, over and above the increasing rabble of the late-night tavern. It was one pair of hands, slowly clapping.

"A pleasure to watch, Missy."

"Come on Sparrow – I'll teach you to dance like a gentleman!" I held out my hand magnanimously, determined not to be drawn by his taunts.

"Bugger that love." The Captain stepped onto the low stage, and gripped me about my waist, an unexpected thrill went through me. "I'll teach you to dance like a pirate."

And he did, he whirled me around the narrow space, with wild steps both unlike Sarah's slow, rolling movements and my stiff ceremonial ones. Keep, the fiddle player, had left off music I could recognize some time ago, and was now playing a lively jig. I clung to Sparrow's strong, firm body – marveling at the differences between his form and Sarah's.

But soon it seemed like the room, as well as me, was spinning, and I held fast to Sparrow, not out of fun, but for fear I would be dragged away in that blurred whirlwind of faces and noise.

"Jack." I whispered in his ear. "Jack, I don't feel very good." He slowed down, and touched my brow, like a physician. I couldn't tell if I saw a note of concern in his eyes, before he freed his other hand from my waist and guided me through the crowd of laughing sailors, to a small stairwell. And from there, a balcony.

The balmy night had turned chill since I had last been outside, and the prick of it against my hot cheeks did something to revive me. Ignoring Sparrow, I held fast to the rail and hung my head over the edge, letting the midnight breeze catch my hair.

"There love, is that better? How do ye feel?" It took me a moment to realize the soft voice and gentle stroking of my back was coming from Jack, but when I did, I turned immediately, and found myself standing far to close to him.

I was suddenly aware that my ears were ringing from the loud music. I saw, through his dark eyes, the hair plastered to my brow, my flushed cheeks, lips parted slightly as I regained my breath. Under his eyes I became aware of myself.

I no longer felt ill, though my knees shook and my head seemed lighter than air. I could feel the rum, warm and rich in my stomach and all the while was the pull of those dark, deep eyes.

"Jack…" Was all I had time to say before his mouth came down hard on mine.

I will not pretend that as a girl of seventeen I had never kissed a man before. But this was wholly different. The idea of putting your tongue in another person's mouth would never have occurred to me, but when he did it, it seemed natural. And then, how can I explain? My body took over the situation – responding to it in a way my mind had not instructed it to. I leaned forward, and opening my mouth wider, tentatively let my tongue explore his mouth. His breath was slightly sour, but there was also a musky taint to it that seemed to addle my senses.

His arms were about my waist, and mine around his neck, it was as if the two of us were one person, our bodies clinging together under the crisp, sparkling stars. His breath and skin were deliciously warm against the chill of the night, and I felt every scratch of stubble, every brush of his tongue against mine, every touch of our noses with a sensitivity I could not have imagined.

Presently Jack pulled away and again I looked up into his eyes.

"Come on love'. He spoke huskily and led me inside. I followed, with a needle of fear piercing my giddy warmth, into narrow hallway, and on to a room, Jack's hat hung on one corner of the bedstead.

As he laid me wordlessly down on the bed and began to kiss my neck, and loosen my hair from its coils the needle of fear grew – many needles pricking away at me. My mouth felt dry and sour and it was with shaking hands I reached for Jack's belt. His knees pinned my legs together and I felt muggy, as if under the pressure of a brooding storm.

"Jack, I want you to know I..." I stopped, unnerved by having the man's whole attention, hands frozen "I've never, I'll try and... You mustn't mind if." I struggled on, my words coming out fast and slurred in my befuddled state. "I know you must be used to girls who... I'm not sure how... please don't be," I gripped is half-undone belt, and stared at up him, struggling to explain something I had no words for.

"Does it hurt?" I stammered. I so badly did not want to disappoint him, but oh! I was so scared!

Jack looked down at me, a frown suddenly creasing his face. He took my hands in his and firmly pushed them way from his breeches.

"Oh no Cath, it don't hurt." He muttered in a husky voice, as he clambered off the bed and reached for his hat. Before he closed the door he turned and said "Get some sleep."

I awoke the next morning with a thumping pain in my head. I felt strange, and it took me a moment to realize it was because there was no gentle rocking of a ship at sea. I was in a bed, not in a narrow bunk, and there was no reassuring warmth of Anamaria at my side.

I looked about me and remembered where I was. I froze and let out a groan as last nights event trickled back to me.

Oh no, surely I hadn't?

Did I really try to?

Had I truly said those things to Jack?


	18. Silk dresses and Calico ships

**A/N – New chapter, yay! Finally! Sorry it's a bit on the short side, I did have plans for more, but it was taking so long to write up, I thought I'd better post SOMETHING before you all totally loose interest.**

**Oh, and in a shameless plug kinda way – if anyone wants to go have a look at 'Mistress Swann' and tell me what they think, I'll love them for ever and ever!

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**

Ana was downstairs, in a small back room, when I came in she called for another plate of bread and bacon.

I sat down wordlessly and began to eat. The bacon was thick and tough, but fresh, a world away from the half-spoiled salted pork on the Pearl.

Ana had neither met my eye, nor spoken a word to me since I walked in. Mindful of the pain in my own head, I assumed her to be feeling the same, and said nothing between my mouthfuls of bacon and gulps of hot coffee.

Presently, Jack joined us. He signalled to the barkeep for some breakfast, but before the man left, Ana slammed her mug down and spoke decisively, in a voice hash and low.

"You need to go. Duncan was up at dawn." The Captain's arms hung dejectedly in the air. Ana looked up for instant, mouth full, eyes burning, and gestured towards the door. He glanced over at me, questioningly. I could feel my face reddening, however, and looked away.

"Aye, then." He muttered, and almost as an afterthought turned to me and asked. "You coming?"

The Black Pearl stood in Levrett's shipyard, shored up with heavy blocks of wood. Out of the water, you could see her narrow hull shape, sharply pointed at the fore. I began to see why she was so deceptively fast.

Most of the men working at careening her, that is – clearing off the barnacles, weeds and other debris collected while at sea, were unknown to me. However, Duncan was there, directing the work with his short, simple orders. When he spied Sparrow, he picked up a piece of wood, broken away from the hull and wandered over. Levrett, who was smoking a long, thin pipe, in the shade of the Pearl's jib sails, caught Jack's eyes with his own sharp ones and gave a nod of greeting as he sidled over.

"What's the problem, mates?" Jack's smile was brittle.

"You know what the problem is, Capt'n." Duncan spoke in the sharp tone I remember him using with Jeff the night of the mutiny. "The problem that let us be broken no better than matchwood in that storm."

We all leaned over to look at the hulk of wood Duncan held out. It was riddled with holes, and almost as light as balsa.

"Teredo's." Levrett muttered the word like a curse. And indeed, those small worms were a curse to any sailor of the Caribbean. Every ship's years were numbered once they spend anytime in our warm, life-filled waters.

"No problem, then." Jack snatched up the wood and crumbled in between his fingers. "Patch her up, coat her hull, she can take it. She's strong, my girl."

"She's just oak, rope and canvas. And she can't take much more of this. I'm only telling you what any man worth his salt would. Get a new ship, or get the Pearl out of these waters." Were Duncan's parting words as he hitched up his toolbelt with a grunt and returned to his work.

"What say you Levrett?"

The man shrugged, half closing his eyes has he inhaled on his pipe.

"She'll hold." He scratched his head with the stem of his pipe and was quiet a while, indicating that thesubject wasclosed. "I just wish you'd let me fit her out."

Something in Jack's stance changed, relaxed, and I got the feeling they were on familiar ground.

"The Black Pearl was born a lady, Scrivner, and so she will remain."

"She's a great galumping pansy." Levrett retorted quickly. "Think on it Jack, the others out there laugh at you. And that great fancy ship of yours."

"They laugh all the way to the gallows." Commented Jack dryly.

"That's as may be, but when they were cornered, they had space on their decks to fight, and holes in their side to shoot from."

"But what about – _style_?" Jack waved his arms frantically, Levrett chuckled softly, his face for all the world an oversized shrivelled walnut.

"Aye Sparrow. I reckon you couldn't do without that." Levrett looked about to continue speaking, but at that moment a man fell from the block and tackle ropes that were holding him up alongside the hull. There was a general commotion and Levrett hurried off quickly, but Jack seemed unruffled.

"What do you think then?" Jack asked, waving his arms expensively.

"It looked a bad fall, Captain."

"No!" He let out a sigh of annoyance. "The ship, Cathy, the ship!" He easily took hold of my arm and steered me closer to the shored-up Pearl. I blushed furiously at the sudden contact.

"Nice lines." I managed to murmur, thinking of some of the homely, plodding merchant ships my father owned. I searched for something else to say, to keep his attention and company. "What is it that Levrett wants to change?"

Jack gave an imperious snort, and for a moment I thought he felt the discussion of Levrett's ideas below his consideration.

"Fit her out." He practically spat out the words. "For. Piratical. Account." He let go of my arm to indulge in an expensive gesture. "Piratical! Pirates have _respect_ for their ship. Or else you're just a thieving bastard who lives on the water. Do you know what that wrinkled old wood-wright would have done to my ship?"

He paused, evidently expecting an answer. Watching him, though, my mind was full of the moment when the night wind caught my hair and his mouth melded with mine. Coming back to earth, I muttered a 'no'.

"Rip down the forecastle and the quarter deck for speed, tear out the bulkheads for space. And have every man jack of us sleeping, eating and living in a vast den of disease. He'd have off with all her carvings and gut her sides so that she could bristle with guns. Then he'd call to overcrew her, so I could have the sailors to man that useless ordinance."He rolled his eyes dramatically. "And they wonder why most pirates got caught."

"So he wants to give her more space inside, more guns outside and make her faster?" Even I, who was doing so well, could not follow Jack's logic here. He gave me a withering look.

"Let me explain in terms _you_ can understand." He spoke ridiculously slowly, as if talking to a simpleton. "He wants to take away her, her...silk dress, and give her calico."

"That's not right." I replied, riled at his implication I only cared for dresses. "He wants to turn her from a ship into a mere floating mode of transportation." Jack, who had been leaning against the hull, grinning, suddenly stood to attention.

"Ye-es." He replied cautiously.


	19. Sunset

**A/N - This is an awkward filler of a chapter, and has driven me mad for weeks. I'm still far from happy with it, but t'will serve to link my last, equally bumbling chapter with something I'm actually halfway proud of.

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**

The sun sunk low and wide in the clear sky over Tortuga, casting long shadows over the workers as they gathered up their tools. Shards of sunlight broke out from behind the newly-careened Pearl, making her look larger and darker than normal, a brooding presence over the ship yard.

I stretched luxuriously in my makeshift hammock, fashioned from a spare jib sail. I had spent the day trying to divert myself whilst the crew worked, expecting any minute for Anamaria to arrive. She had not, and as the sky deepened and darkened, I began to worry.

"Miss Barbrook." I started so violently my hammock nearly collapsed, that was the first time Sparrow had called me by that name. Just when I thought that man couldn't get more unnerving.

"_Captain_." I replied, attempting to mock his formal tone. To my surprise he looked slightly hurt. His face was smudged with wood dust from the days work, sweat had washed away most of his customary kohl and he held his hat in his hands. All this served to give him an air of, had he been another, I would have called vulnerability.

"Cathy, then." He blustered "Us lads are heading down to the Three Turtles, it's no Faithful Bride – but I wondered of you might join me in a dram of rum?" This time he spoke with more than his usual swagger, but this is not what made me hesitate.

"I really should look for Anamaria, I haven't seen her all day…"

"Oh, Ana can look after herself, if ever a woman could." Jack touched his cheek thoughtfully as he spoke. "What say you?" He held a hand out, looking at it, I had a flash of that same hand knocking my fingers away from his britches, and felt the colour rise.

"I need to find Anamaria."

"As you say," Jack gave a deep bow and replaced his hat with a flourish. "I myself, am keeping out of her path."

As he strode off with the other men, I pondered on his last comment. Surely Ana couldn't still be suffering with overindulgence?

Yet it appeared so. Or else so other ailment forced her to shun company; I searched for a good hour, but could not find her anywhere at the Faithful Bride. Her quarters were empty, and no one could tell me where she had gone. Indeed, it seemed she had disappeared directly after I had seen her at breakfast.

I had only the vaguest recollection of her once speaking of visiting relatives in Tortuga; Aunts, nieces and nephews from her mother's side. I had no idea where to begin my search, and dusk was stealing in fast.

Tortuga, so quiet and sleepy during the day began its nightly reincarnation; brothels shrieked and taverns bellowed, business was slack no longer, it took up heavy trade in the dark alleys and clandestine meeting places. Alone under the young moon I realized it was only in the dark could you see what Tortuga really was.

Having no where else to turn, it was with a heavy and full heart I made my way to the Three Turtles.

The sudden heat and noise reminded me of nothing so much as entering a stable. Everywhere men and women were eating, drinking, talking, laughing, singing and dancing – humanity in all its most base and familiar forms.

Yet in this multitude I could not see one familiar face. Not wishing to plunge into the fray, I found myself a hidden corner, ill-placed and cold; hidden from the room's great hearth. Here I sat, and tried to collect my thoughts.

I had not gone far however, when a figure rounded on my hiding place with a tentative:

"Catherine?"


	20. Tall Tales

**A/N - Oh, I love writing Gibbs, he is _such _fun. And finally, the plot thickens!

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**

Gibbs, looking as sober-faced as ever, sat down opposite me, only the unsteady hand as he laid down his tankard belying his true state.

"Mr. Gibbs…" I began

"Joshamee, Joshamee – please."

"Have you seen Anamaria?" Gibbs shook his flushed face.

"No, not me young love, I be's keeping from her path." He replied with more emphatic head-shaking.

"Jack said the same." I mused, almost to myself. "Why are you all avoiding her?"

Gibbs took a deep draft from his tankard before replying, and I shifted in my seat to become more comfortable; knowing from experience Gibbs was about to begin a tale.

"Well, I'll tell ye true young Catherine, though I don't think ye'd like to hear it." He began. I shrugged off his concern. "Aye well, t'is well known, though not so much spoken, that our Quartermaster is in love with our Captain." I nearly fell from my stool with shock, Gibbs began to answer the questions in my eyes before I could even get them out of my mouth. "When Ana escaped from those frog slave drivers, she stowed away on a ship, see? Hid herself away in the hold she did, and prayed for a quiet passage to some distant land. But what she didn't reckon on was that ship being a pirate ship. Queen Anne's revenge it were called, after old Blackbeard's great ship that were sunk in the Ocracoke inlet. And t'was on that ship Jack had just joined as cabin boy.

"The captain was a powerful cruel man, from what I hear Jack tell, and he kept that crew tight as slaves in the orlop. There wasn't even space for poor little Jack to sling a hammock. So he took up the habit of sleeping down in the hold, ye see. Well, a long voyage, you're going to get to know if you're sharing quarters with someone.

"So Jack found Ana out, by and by. But he doesn't give her up for the captain, ye see. No, our Jack may be young, but he's got his eyes on the prize, so right he as. The two of them, they works out a plan; next time they dock Jack will be left to guard the ship while those other poor sods gets chance to stretch their legs and take in some of life's small pleasures. The captain never liked to leave anyone but Jack on board – thought he was too young to think about mutinying."

"Jack mutinied?"

"No, not he, never. What they did, Ana and him, they waits for the others all to leave, and waits more till they reckon they'll be good and drunk. Then they takes whatever swag and vittles they can, and makes off in the pink – that is, the ships longboat.

" The very next day they manage to take a larger vessel just out to sea, and they presses some of the crew to join them, and a few days the same again, then they uses their wits to take a merchant sloop with a few canon, see? They goes on like this and in no time at all they were terrorizing the Caribbean. Ana tells me they had vowed to be the best pirates the world has ever known, and so they were for a while, though they were only young. They say ye learn to swim if yer thrown in at the deep end, and Ana and Jack took to sailin' and piratin' like none other, they were a grand team, and no one ever got between them. But after a while…" He hesitated, but continued. "Well, like I say – it were a day like any other and the two of them were in Tortuga, putting their feet up, like. Anamaria, well – she were in a family way. Jack didn't know yet, but on the morning she set out to tell him, she found him in bed with some Tortuga wench."

"Oh poor Ana!" I cried, a rush of tenderness boiling up for my friend.

"Aye, t'were nearly the end of her. Off she went, without a second word to Jack, to find her a doctor who'd fix things for her. She never had the child, and Jack never knew she carried it, and t'were near seven years before they saw each other again. Jack has crossed a lot of water since then, but Ana – God help her – she still loves him, always will, I reckon." Gibbs spoke the last few words with an air of finality, and drank deep of his tankard, leaving me to mull over all this meant.

Jack; who drives me mad and whose kiss was still burnt into my brain. And Ana; my dearest friend, who loves him.


End file.
